LIDA  •  CAMPBEU 

O  R 

DRAMA  •  OF-A  -  LIFE 


BY-  JEAN  •  KATE-  LUDLUM 


m 

/ 


LIDA  CAMPBELL, 

OR 

DRAMA  OF  A  LIFE. 


Works  by 
JEAN  KATE  LTJDLTJM. 

UNDER  OATH.  12mo.,  337  pages. 
Illustrated.  Handsomely  bound 
in  cloth,  price,  $1.00.  Paper 
cover,  50  cents. 

UNDER  A  CLOXTD.  12mo.,  300 
pages.  Illustrated.  Handsomely 
bound  in  cloth,  pricr,  $1.00. 
Paper  cover,  50  cents. 

JOHN  WINTHROP'S  DEFEAT. 
12mo.,  287  pages.  Illustrated. 
Handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  price, 
$1.00.  Paper  cover,  50  cents. 

LIDA  CAMPBELL,  OR  DRAMA 
OP  A  LIFE.  12mo.  Illustrated. 
Handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  price, 
$1.00.  Paper  cover,  50  cents. 


LIDA   CAMPBELL, 

OR 

DRAMA   OF   A    LIFE. 


BY 

JEAN    KATE    LUDLUM, 

Author  of  "Under  Oath,"    "Under  a   Cloud,"    "John    Win- 
throp's  Defeat,"  etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  H.  M.  EATON. 


NEW  YORK: 
ROBERT    BONNER'S    SONS, 

1892. 


COPYRIGHT,  1891  and  1892, 
BY  ROBEUT  BONNER'S  SONS. 


(AH  rights  retened.) 


LIDA  CAMPBELL. 


CHAPTER    I. 

A   STRANGE  VISITOR. 

Dower'd  with  the  hate  of  hate,  the  scorn  of  scorn, 
The  love  of  love. 

TENNYSON. 


HE  spring  day  was  chilly.  A 
fire  glowed  invitingly  in  the 
grate  in  the  private  office 
of  the  Universal  Information 
Bureau,  near  Grand  Central 
Depot  on  Forty-second  street, 
New  York  city.  The  office  was 
evidently  tenanted  by  women,  if  one  should 
judge  by  its  lace  curtains,  its  rugs  and  its  stuffed 

[7] 


2061878 


8  Lida   Campbell,  or 

chairs  and  its  pictures.  A  huge  sleepy-hollow 
chair  and  a  tiny  stand  draped  with  a  silken  scarf 
and  holding  a  work-box  and  a  bowl  of  flowers 
stood  near  the  grate.  A  small  woman  occupied 
the  chair.  A  table  neatly  arranged  for  writing, 
book-shelves  filled  with  volumes,  and  a  tempting 
couch  piled  with  soft  cushions  added  to  the 
pleasant  first  impression.  A  screen  of  natural 
wood,  hand-painted,  shut  off  the  doorway, 
draped  with  a  portiere,  leading  into  the  outer 
offices. 

"  Miss  Campbell !"  a  girl  said,  peeping  around 
the  screen.  A  pretty  girl,  with  large  blue  eyes 
and  hair  of  reddish  gold.  A  neat  girl,  too,  with 
her  becoming  dress  and  embroidered  black  silk 
apron,  her  snowy  collar  and  cuffs. 

"  Yes  !"  The  small  woman  in  the  sleepy  hollow 
turned  a  bright,  interested  face  toward  the  tall 
young  girl.  "  What  is  it,  Miss  Randall  ?" 

"A  lady  wishes  particularly  to  see  you,  Miss 
Campbell.  Shall  I  show  her  in  here  ?" 

"  Who  is  she,  Miss  Randall  ?" 

"  She  is  a  stranger.     She  gave  no  name.  '  Par- 


Drama  of  a  Life, 


ticular  business  with  the  proprietor,'  was  all 
that  she  said.  An  elderly  woman,  with  white 
hair,  Miss  Campbell." 

"  Admit  her,  of  course,  Miss  Randall.  I  was 
specially  engaged,  but  my  time  is  not  my  own, 
and  time  is  money." 

Miss  Randall  turned  away,  smiling.  She  and 
Miss  Campbell  were  friends  as  well  as  employer 
and  employee.  When  she  returned,  which  was 
almost  immediately,  she  ushered  in  the  impor- 
tunate visitor.  The  new-comer  was  a  tall  woman, 
whose  snow-white  hair  was  due  to  mental  rather 
than  physical  causes,  judging  from  the  face  and 
eyes  vivid  with  life  and  fire.  She  moved  like 
one  in  a  dream,  entering  the  room  noiselessly,  a 
peculiar,  far-away  expression  in  the  eyes,  an 
intentness  in  the  face  that  at  once  instinctively 
roused  one's  attention. 

"  Good-morning,  madam,"  said  Miss  Campbell, 
rising,  a  smile  upon  her  lips,  as  she  wheeled  a 
chair  nearer  the  fire.  "  Pray  be  seated.  What 
can  I  do  for  you  this  morning?" 

The    new-comer   seated     herself    slowly    and 


TO  Lida   Campbell,   or 

deliberately,  still  with  the  far-away  manner, 
without  returning  Miss  Campbell's  salutation. 
But  Miss  Campbell  only  smiled.  She  met  many 
peculiar  persons  in  her  position,  and  learned 
considerable  of  human  nature.  She  quietly 
reseated  herself  in  the  great  chair  before  the  fire, 
resuming  the  plush  table-scarf  which  she  was 
embroidering,  upon  the  announcement  of  her 
visitor,  for  Miss  Campbell  in  her  struggle  with 
life  combined  many  kinds  of  work. 

Presently  the  woman  addressed  her.  From 
under  her  half-closed  lids  she  had  been  regarding 
the  piquant  face,  and  was  evidently  satisfied. 

"  I  like  you,"  she  said,  without  other  introduc- 
tory words,  yet  not  abruptly.  She  spoke  as  one 
does  who  has  but  resumed  conversation  after  a 
short  silence.  "  I  think  that  you  can  help  me." 

Miss  Campbell  nodded  brightly. 

"  I  am  here  for  that — to  help  those  who  need 
my  assistance,"  she  said.  "  What  can  I  do  for 
you,  madam  ?" 

The  woman  did  not  at  once  reply.  She 
reclined  easily  in  her  chair  with  half-closed  eyes 


Drama  of  a  Life.  1 1 

and  a  preoccupied  face.  She  seemed  utterly  to 
forget  herself  and  her  surroundings.  Rather  an 
uncanny  way  she  had,  Lida  Campbell  thought. 

"  My  name  is  Olive  Price,"  said  the  woman, 
after  a  long  pause.  "  Perhaps  you  have  heard  of 
me?" 

Miss  Campbell  shook  her  head  deprecatingly. 

"  There  are  so  many  people  in  New  York,"  she 
said. 

The  woman  was  quite  unmoved. 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  she  said.  "  I  merely 
spoke  of  it  as  an  introduction.  Your  lack  of 
knowledge  regarding  me  proves  that  you  are 
not  an  enemy.  All  my  enemies  know  my 
name." 

"  It  seems  impossible  for  you  to  nave  enemies," 
said  Lida,  gently.  She  was  strangely  at  once 
attracted  and  repelled  by  this  woman  with  the 
slumbrous  face  and  eyes — as  though  she  were 
in  the  presence  of  a  crater  that  might  at  any 
moment  leap  to  flaming  destruction.  The  calm 
face  now  wakened  suddenly,  as  though  indeed 
some  inward  fire  had  been  touched  to  life. 


12  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  I  have  enemies — yes !"  she  said,  intensely, 
with  a  passionate  gesture  of  her  hands,  as  she 
leaned  forward  toward  her  companion.  "  That 
is  why  I  am  come  to  you.  I  am  poor.  I  was 
once  rich  and  beautiful,  they  said — not  so  long 
ago,  either,"  she  added,  falling  as  swiftly  into 
sadness.  "  It  is  not  years  that  kill !" 

Lida  shook  her  head. 

"  It  is  not,"  she  said,  kindly  ;  "  but  you  should 
not  speak  of  having  lost  your  beauty,  madam." 

A  frown  touched  the  broad,  white  brow ;  the 
black  eyes  were  clear  as  steel,  as  they  scanned 
the  sweet,  young  face  ;  a  new  hauteur  was  in»her 
manner. 

"  I  did  not  come  for  compliments,"  she  said, 
coldly.  "  You  may  find  them  remunerative  with 
others;  not  with  me." 

"  That  is  uttered  like  a  true  American,"  Lida 
replied,  laughing.  "  I  like  you  all  the  better  for 
it,  madam." 

The  woman  did  not  reply;  she  appeared  not 
even  to  hear  Miss  Campbell ;  the  knit  brows 


Drama  of  a  Life.  13 

denoted  intense  thought.  Presently  she  spoke 
with  her  peculiar  soft  abruptness. 

"  You  know  of  Walker  Paling,  Miss  Camp- 
bell ?" 

Lida  laughed. 

"  Of  course.  Every  one  knows  of  our  great 
novelist,  madam." 

"  He  writes  peculiar  romances,  does  he  not, 
Miss  Campbell?" 

Miss  Campbell  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Decidedly  original,"  she  replied  ;  "  scarcely 
probable,  madam.  Pardon  my  frankness  if  he  is 
yorfr  friend." 

The  inner  fire  once  more  touched  to  life  the 
quiet  face,  and  the  black  eyes  blazed. 

"  He  is  more  than  a  friend,"  she  said,  fiercely 
— "  he  was  my  lover,  Miss  Campbell,  before  he 
turned  from  me — wearied  of  me.  I  loved  him 
then.  Not  now  ;  not  since  he  went  away  and 
hid  himself  from  me.  Ah,  it  is  not  years  have 
whitened  my  hair  and  made  me  old  in  youth. 
Do  you  believe  in  hypnotism,  Miss  Campbell  ?" 


14  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"No,"  Miss  Campbell  replied,  coldly,  a  touch 
of  scorn  upon  her  face. 

"  Then,"  said  the  woman,  evenly,  "  I  fear  you 
will  find  it  difficult  to  believe  what  I  have  to  say, 
Miss  Campbell.  But  I  must  say  it.  I  came  for 
that,  feeling  that  you  would  help  me,  and  you 
must.  Since  my  lover  went  away  I  have  been 
very  ill.  As  I  told  you,  not  long  ago  I  was 
rich  ;  my  brother  and  I  were  sole  heirs  to  the 
fortune  left  by  our  parents ;  to-day  the  beggar 
in  the  street  is  richer  than  1.  During  my  illness 
I  was  attended  by  Doctor  Oldham.  I  was  at  a 
hotel  and  had  no  friends  save  him.  When  I 
recovered  he  sent  me  his  bill,  which  amounted 
to  more  than  eighty  dollars.  I  was,  of  course, 
unable  to  pay  it,  and  he  took  from  me  as  secur- 
ity the  only  valuable  thing  which  1  possessed — a 
manuscript  upon  which  I  had  worked  for 
months.  This  was  specially  valuable  because  it 
was  not  written  as  general  writers  do  their  work. 
This  was  composed  only  during  the  times  these 
trances  were  upon  me,  and  much  of  it  is  in 
hieroglyphics.  Hypnotism  places  infinite  power 


Drama  of  a  Life.  1 5 

In  me.  Your  great  novelist — this  Walker 
Paling,  my  old  lover — wrote  his  greatest  novels 
•while  under  my  influence !  They  are  more 
mine  than  his,  and  what  return  have  I  ?" 

Her  voice  was  intensely  bitter,  and  a  short 
silence  ensued.  Lida  was  half  repelled,  half 
fascinated  by  her  visitor's  voice  and  manner. 

"  Is  your  manuscript  a  novel,  madam  ?"  she 
asked,  presently. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  slow  reply  ;  "  although  it 
treats  of  medical  topics.  I  studied  in  the  medi- 
cal college  with  Doctor  Oldham.  We  were 
classmates.  That  is  why  he  was  kind  to  me 
during  my  illness." 

"  If  you  and  he  belong  to  the  same  profession, 
I  call  it  anything  but  kind  to  send  you  a  bill  for 
services,"  said  Miss  Campbell,  indignantly.  "  It 
is  not  customary,  madam,  and  a  man  with 
Doctor  Oldham's  wealth  and  reputation  does 
not  need  the  money." 

"  No,"  said  the  woman,  reluctantly.  "  I  think 
that  he  did  not  take  it  solely  for  that,  Miss 
Campbell." 


1 6  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"Then,  why,  if  I  may  ask,  madam  ?" 

"  Because  " — the  woman  seemed  compelled  to 
reply — "  I  wished  to  publish  it,  and — he  consid- 
ered it  unwise." 

"  Is  there  anything  objectionable  in  it, 
madam  ?" 

"  He — thought  so— but  he  did  not  write  it." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Miss  Campbell,  crisply. 
Her  first  impression  that  her  visitor  was  of 
unsound  mind  was  considerably  strengthened. 
"  But  what  can  I  do  for  you?  How  can  I  assist 
you,  madam?" 

"  I  would  like  you  to  recover  the  manuscript 
for  me,  Miss  Campbell.  I  wish  to  have  it  pub- 
lished ;  it  contains  remarkable  things  that  the 
world  should  know.  You  negotiate  with  pub- 
lishers, do  you  not?" 

"  Yes ;  but  only  for  perfectly  legal  manu- 
scripts, madam." 

"  This  is  perfectly  legal,"  was  the  calm  reply. 
"  You,  not  being  a  hypnotic,  may  doubt  it.  I 
wish  you  to  secure  it  for  me  and  procure  a  type- 
writer operator.  It  should  be  copied,  should  it 


Drama  of    a  Life.  17 

not  ?  But  I  must  dictate  it  to  the  operator 
myself.  How  much  will  it  cost  ?  There  should 
be  nearly  five  hundred  pages  when  it  is  printed ; 
it  is  very  large." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Campbell,  still  coldly.  She 
had  little  interest  in  this  strange  visitor ;  she 
must  be  both  cautious  and  courteous,  but  she 
need  be  no  more.  "  Could  you  not  reduce  it 
somewhat?  I  think  I  could  have  it  copied  for 
you  for  one  hundred  dollars,  judging,  of  course, 
from  what  you  say." 

"  That  is  a  good  deal  to  pay  for  merely  copy- 
ing; still,  if  you  consider  it  wise,  I  will  leave  it 
with  you  to  secure  the  operator,  if  you  obtain 
the  manuscript.  Doctor  Oldham  will  verify  my 
statements.  I  have  told  you  the  truth." 

"  I  will  do  what  1  can,  madam.  Doctor  Old- 
ham  should  willingly  return  it  to  you,  unless  he 
has  good  reason  for  retaining  it." 

"  He  has  no  reason  !"  the  woman  said,  in  sud- 
den passion.  "  Is  not  my  soul,  my  life  itself,  in 
it  ?  Is  it  not  mine  ?" 

"  But   if   he   considers  that  its  publication  is 


1 8  Lida   Campbell,  or 

unwise,  he  would  not  be  truly  your  friend  to 
yield  it  to  you,"  Lida  gravely  replied.  "  You 
must  not  expect  too  much  from  my  going  to 
him.  If  you  failed,  how  can  I  hope  for  success?" 

"  You  can  get  it  if  you  will,"  was  the  answer. 
"  If  you  will  have  an  operator  here  to  meet  me, 
I  can  arrange  about  the  copying.  That  is,  if 
you  do  get  the  manuscript.  I  must  have  some 
pleasant,  intelligent  girl  for  the  work.  I  cannot 
endure  the  presence  of  every  one." 

When  this  strange  visitor  was  gone,  Lida 
Campbell  sat  silent  and  thoughtful  for  some 
time.  Her  brows  were  wrinkled  from  intense 
thought ;  her  eyes  were  remarkably  bright,  as 
they  looked  into  the  fire  as  though  there  to  find 
solution  for  this  remarkable  event  in  her  com- 
monplace life. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  help  her,"  she  said,  by  and  by, 
with  a  half-smile  upon  her  red  lips — a  smile 
that  made  her  piquant  face  peculiarly  charming. 
"  Perhaps  I  can  help  her — who  knows  ?  But  it 
seems  to  me — and  time  will  show — that  that 
depends  altogether  upon  whether  or  not  I  will!" 


CHAPTER    II. 


DOCTOR  OLDHAM'S  REPLY. 

Is  it  not  meet 

That  they  who  erst  the  Eden  fruit  did  eat 
Should  champ  the  ashes  ? 

THE  SERAPHIM. 


ALBERT  OLDHAM,  M.  D., 
West  34th  Street, 
New  York. 


was  finely  engraved  upon  the  card  which  Miss 
Campbell  held  in  her  hand  for  examination  as 
she  waited  the  response  to  her  ring  at  the  hand- 
some residence  of  the  physician,  not  at  all 
daunted  by  the  undoubted  difficulties  before 
her;  for  Lida  Campbell,  in  her  business  connec- 
tion with  the  world,  knew  that  this  errand  of 
hers  was  most  unique  and  liable  to  a  discomfort- 

[19] 


2O  Lida  Campbell,  or 

ing  ending.  She  firmly  believed  in  the  irres- 
ponsibility of  her  strange  visitor  of  a  few  days 
previous,  and  this  undertaking  might  involve 
her  in  unpleasant  developments ;  but  she  had 
passed  her  word  to  do  her  best  ior  the  woman, 
and  that  she  would  do. 

The  physician  was  at  that  moment  engaged, 
but  would  see  her  presently ;  so  she  passed  into 
the  reception-room  and  waited  what  seemed  to 
be  a  long  time,  although  in  reality  it  was  but  a 
scant  ten  minutes  ere  she  was  summoned  into 
the  physician's  office,  and  met  a  fine-looking 
man  in  the  prime  of  life,  courteous,  alert ;  a 
handsome  room,  plain  but  bearing  the  unmis- 
takable impress  of  wealth. 

Replying  to  his  salutation  and  seating  herself 
in  the  chair  placed  for  her  beside  the  desk,  Miss 
Campbell  forgot  her  momentary  embarrassment 
or  the  peculiar  circumstances  prompting  this 
visit,  and  made  known  her  errand  with  her 
usual  frankness  of  speech. 

"  I  call  upon  you  this  morning,  Dr.  Oldham, 


Drama  of  a  Life.  21 

not  for  myself.  Are  you  acquainted  with  such 
a  person  as  Olive  Price  ?" 

An  inscrutable  change  touched  the  physician's 
quiet  face ;  a  strange  gleam  or  flicker  for  an 
instant  marred  the  cool  grey  eyes.  Miss  Camp- 
bell's eyes  were  alert.  Nothing  of  this  was  lost 
upon  her.  She  approved  of  herself  imwardly 
as  she  watched  him. 

"  I  know  of  such  a  person — yes.  What  of  her, 
madam?" 

"  She  was  a  classmate  of  yours,  I  understand, 
at  college,  Doctor  Oldham  ?" 

"  She  was." 

"She  has  been  ill?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  attended  her  ?" 

"  I  did." 

So  far,  Miss  Campbell  said  to  herself,  she  was 
doing  well.  Her  self-approval  was  steadily 
increasing. 

"  Dr.  Oldham." 

"Madam?" 


22  Lida   Campbell,  or 

"  Can  you,  as  a  physician,  having  attended 
this  woman,  say  that  she  is  perfectly  sane  ?" 

There  was  a  slight  hesitation,  scarcely  an 
instant's  pause,  but  this  ako  was  noted  by  those 
bright  dark  eyes  of  Lida  Campbell. 

"  I  consider  her  so,  certainly." 

"  There  has  been  no  insanity  in  her  family, 
doctor?  Pardon  my  questions,  but  I  am  placed 
in  peculiar  relations  with  her,  and  must  under- 
stand the  ground  upon  which  I  stand." 

Doctor  Oldham  frowned  slightly.  His  eyes 
were  keen  in  meeting  the  bright  eyes  behind 
the  film  of  veil  over  the  piquant  face. 

"  So  far  as  I  can  say,  there  is  no  insanity  in 
the  family,  madam.  There  is  a  vein  of  peculiar- 
ity in  them  all ;  eccentricity,  many  would  call  it. 
I  consider  it  due  to  highly  strung  nerves  and 
intense  spirituality.  A  touch  of  devil  and  angel 
alternately.  The  mother  possessed  this  charac- 
teristic to  a  powerful  degree." 

"  She  is  a  disciple — a  believer — what  you  will, 
of  hypnotism,  doctor  ;  is  she  not?" 

"  Yes,  madam.     She  is  even  more  than   that. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  23 

She  possesses  this  intense  vein  to  such  an  extent, 
that  she  is  not  only  a  hypnotic,  but  she  even 
hypnotizes  herself.  This  power  in  her  is  mar- 
velous. I  have  never,  seen  it  equaled." 

A  flash  of  profound  comprehension  touched 
Miss  Campbell's  eyes  ;  a  half  smile  stirred  her 
lips. 

"Are  you  a  spiritualist,  Doctor  Oldham  ?" 

A  deep  frown  of  annoyance  wrinkled  his 
brows.  He  turned  upon  his  revolving-chair  to 
push  aside  a  heap  of  papers  on  the  desk  before 
him.  He  had  perhaps  been  unwise  in  so  cham- 
pioning this  strange  woman.  It  might  injure 
him  professionally  should  it  be  known  that  he 
was  a  disciple  of  such  a  peculiar  mental  factor 
as  spiritualism. 

Miss  Campbell  repeated  her  question  ere  her 
replied.  She  would  not  be  turned  from  the 
truth. 

He  wheeled  upon  his  chair  again  facing  her. 

"  Perhaps  I  am — yes — to  a  certain  extent, 
madam." 

"  To  what  extent,  doctor  ?" 


24  Lida   Campbell,  or 

"  Well,"  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  sig- 
nificant glance  toward  the  door,  as  though  sug- 
gesting that  his  time  was  too  valuable  to  be  spent 
in  this  argument.  "  I  believe  if  I  should  die  now 
my  spirit  would  go  out  upon  the  street  and  be 
met  by  others,  and  that  we  would  be  here  all  the 
time,  mingling  with  material  men  and  women 
passing  to  and  fro.  Perhaps  it  is  not  wise  for  me 
to  confess  this  even  to  you,  madam,  but  I  feel 
constrained  to  do  so,  and  trust  to  your  discretion 
in  allowing  it  to  go  no  farther." 

"  Certainly,"  Miss  Campbell  replied,  gravely. 
"  I  shall  respect  your  feeling,  doctor.  But  will 
you  tell  me  if  this  woman  is  also  connected  in 
this  strange  way  with  one  of  our  novelists?  If 
she  is,  you  will  know  whom  I  mean.  Was  he 
her  lover?  Did  she  use  her  power  over  him 
even  so  far  as  to  place  in  his  hands  the  knowledge 
and  material  upon  which  to  base  his  strange 
romances?  She  has  told  me  that  this  is  so. 
Pardon  me,  but  I  find  this  difficult  to  believe." 

The  physician  frowned. 

"  Nevertheless,  it  is  true,"  he  replied.     "  Have 


Drama  of  a  Life.  25 

1  not  told  you  that  she  possesses  this  power  mar- 
velously  ?  I  wonder  that  you  did  not  feel  her 
influence  during  your  conversation  with  her, 
Miss  Campbell." 

Miss  Campbell  shrugged  her  shoulders  some- 
what scornfully. 

"  She  could  have  no  influence  over  me,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  altogether  too  practical,  doctor. 
This  is  a  very  material  world  to  me,  in  which  we 
have  to  earn  our  own  living.  And  so  this 
famous  novelist  of  ours  is  truly  your  friend's 
lover  ?" 

"  He  was — yes." 

"  And  he  left  her  in  this  cowardly  manner, 
leaving  no  trace  of  his  whereabouts  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  accept  it  so  calmly  ?"  she  queried,  a 
flash  in  her  eyes. 

"  Have  I  anything  to  do  with  her  love,"  he 
asked,  coldly,  "  or  her  hate  ?" 

A  flush  burned  in  her  cheeks. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  gently.  "  After 
all,  what  is  that  to  me  ?  Am  I  not  a  woman,  and 


26  Lida   Campbell,  or 

would  I  wish  others  to  seek  my  heart's  depths? 
But  now  that  \ve  have  gone  this  far,  will  you 
kindly  tell  me  why  you  should  have  rendered  a 
bill  for  your  services  to  this  woman,  if  she  is  a 
member  of  your  profession,  during  her  illness  in 
this  city  ?  As  you  know,  such  a  thing  is  not 
customary,  and  you  must  have  had  strong 
reasons  for  doing  so." 

The  physician  was  growing  momentarily  more 
annoyed  by  this  interview.  The  frown  did  not 
lighten  from  his  face,  and  he  struck  the  legs  of 
his  chair  sharply  with  one  foot,  as  though  he 
were  too  mnch  disturbed  for  control.  His  eyes 
were  rather  fierce,  while  looking  into  the  lifted 
dark  eyes  of  his  interlocutor. 

"  I  have  my  reasons,  certainly,"  he  said,  coldly. 
"  You  will  pardon  me,  madam,  but  this  is  a  mat- 
ter between  our  two  selves.  I  do  not  feel  at 
liberty  to  make  it  known  to  another." 

Miss  Campbell's  color  deepened  with  sudden 
embarrassment. 

"  Pardon  me"  she  said,  sweetly  and  steadily. 
"I  am  detaining  you,  doctor,  but  it  is  unavoid- 


Drama  of  a  Life.  27 

able.  This  friend  of  yours  sent  me  to  you  with 
full  liberty  to  question  you  regarding  herself.  I 
came  upon  an  errand  for  her,  and  I  must  learn 
what  is  possible,  before  I  can  undertake  her 
commission.  I  have  my  reasons,  too." 

The  physician  inclined  his  head  with  cold 
courtesy,  as  a  brilliant  smile  crossed  her  lips. 

"  Very  well,  then,  madam,  if  it  is  her  wish,"  he 
said,  "  I  will  tell  you  this  :  I  did  not  send  her  a 
bill  for  services,  although  she  doubtless  consid- 
ers it  such.  When  she  sent  for  me,  saying  that 
she  was  alone  in  the  city  at  a  strange  hotel,  I 
went  to  her.  I  have  always  admired  her  for  her 
powerful  mind.  When  I  arrived  at  the  hotel,  I 
found  her  very  ill  and  without  money.  The 
hotel  people  were  unpleasantly  pressing  regard- 
ing her  payment  of  her  bill,  and  I  settled  that 
for  her.  It  was  for  this,  not  for  professional 
services,  that  the  bill  was  sent." 

"  Surely,"  said  Miss  Campbell,  hastily,  a  touch 
of  scorn  upon  her  face,  "  Doctor  Oldham,  the 
wealthy  physician,  could  afford  to  pay  even  the 


28  Li  da  Campbell,  or 

hotel  bill  of  a  member  of  his  profession — an  old 
classmate — without  demanding  its  repayment." 

Doctor  Oldham  smiled  for  the  first  time  dur- 
ing the  interview.  An  amused  gleam  for  an 
instant  flashed  in  his  eyes.  This  was  truly  a 
remarkable  woman,  who  had  no  fear  of  speaking 
her  mind. 

"  I  could,"  he  said,  "  certainly,  Miss  Campbell 
— if  I  would.  But,  as  I  at  first  informed  you,  I 
had  my  reasons." 

Miss  Campbell  began  to  comprehend  more 
fully  now.  Explanation  was  not  always  neces- 
sary with  her. 

"  And  your  reasons  are  connected  with  a 
manuscript  of  hers,  doctor?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

He  was  non-committal. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said. 

"  I  ask  you,"  continued  Miss  Campbell,  more 
quietly,  "  because  I  called  in  reference  to  that 
manuscript,  doctor.  Your  friend  wishes  me  to 
arrange  for  having  it  published  for  her.  You 
took  that  in  payment,  or  rather  as  security  for 
her  debt,  and  still  hold  it,  refusing  her  demand 


Drama  of  a  Life.  29 

(or  its  return.  Why  should  you  do  this  if,  as 
you  yourself  acknowledge,  you  do  not  need  the 
money  ?" 

"  I  have  my  reasons,"  he  said,  frigidly. 

But  Miss  Campbell  was  not  to  be  daunted. 

"  Do  you  object  to  its  publication,  Doctor 
Oldham?" 

"  Not  at  all,  rnadam,  if  she  can  find  a  publisher 
willing  to  undertake  it." 

"  Why  should  she  not  ?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  arched  his 
brows. 

"  Why,  indeed,  madam  !" 

"  Doctor  Oldham !"  Miss  Campbell  was  rapidly 
losing  her  patience.  "  You  have  read  this  manu- 
script ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  there  anything  objectionable  in  it  ?" 

"  That  depends  upon  what  you  call  objection- 
able, madam." 

"  Is  there  anything  inadvisable — anything 
immoral  in  it,  doctor?" 

"  I  think  that  there  is,"  he  said. 


30  Lida   Campbell,  or 

The  warm  flush  of  annoyance  touched  her 
face,  though  still  she  bravely  faced  him. 

"  Your  friend  requested  me  to  regain  this 
manuscript  for  her,"  she  said,  icily.  "  I  asked 
her  at  that  time  if  there  is  anything  out  of  the 
way  in  it,  and  she  said  that  there  is  not,  although 
you  consider  that  there  is.  She  told  me  that 
herself.  If  you  have  no  objection  to  its  publica- 
tion, providing  she  can  find  a  publisher,  why 
should  you  withhold  it  from  her?" 

"  Because,  as  I  have  told  you,  I  consider  it 
advisable,"  he  said. 

"But  how  is  she  to  find  a  publisher  for  it  if 
you  will  not  give  it  up?"  repeated  Miss  Camp- 
bell, incisively. 

"  You  or  she  must  arrange  that,"  he  said, 
unmoved.  "I  am  willing  that  a  publisher  should 
come  here  to  see  it,  but  I  will  not  let  it  go  from 
my  possession,  madam." 

"  But  you  know  very  well,"  said  Miss  Camp- 
bell, scornfully,  "  that  no  publisher  will  run 
about  the  city  searching  for  uncertain  manu. 
script,  Doctor  Oldham,  If  this  manuscript  is  to 


Drama  of  a  Life.  3 1 

be  read  for  publication,  it  must  go  to  the  pub- 
lisher and  his  readers.  The  mountain  will  not 
come  to  Mahomet  to-day  any  more  than  in  the 
old  story  book  days." 

"  I  refuse  to  let  it  go  from  my  possession," 
was  the  response. 

"  But  I  fail  to  see  your  right  to  hold  it,"  pro- 
tested Miss  Campbell,  warmly,  "  as  you  say  that 
you  do  not  hold  it  for  debt.  If  she  wrote  the 
manuscript  and  it  is  hers  and  she  wishes  to  have 
it  published,  how  can  you  prevent  it,  Doctor 
Old  ham?" 

He  met  her  eyes  squarely. 

"  If  you  had  a  friend  who  had  accomplished  a 
piece  of  work  that  she  wished  to  place  upon  the 
market  and  you  knew  that  such  an  attempt 
would  be  followed  by  discomfort — possibly  dis- 
grace to  her,  would  not  you,  as  a  true  friend  of 
hers,  resort  to  almost  any  means  to  prevent  such 
inevitable  consequences,  Miss  Campbell?" 

"  I  comprehend.  These  consequences  would 
follow  her  attempt  at  publication,  Doctor  Old- 
ham?" 


32  Licta   Campbell,  or 

"  Undoubtedly.  She  is  a  physician,  She  is 
even  more  than  a  spiritualist.  She  is  a  hypnotic 
to  such  a  degree,  that  she  hypnotizes  herself, 
as  I  have  told  you.  Sometimes  while  in  this 
state  she  will  wander  about  the  streets  for  days 
with  scarcely  a  mouthfull  to  eat.  She  loses  all 
traces  of  time  or  of  what  is  passing  around  her. 
She  is  like  one  in  a  trance,  yet  capable  of  move- 
ment and  intense  thought.  It  was  during  such 
time  that  she  composed  this  manuscript.  She  is 
scarcely  responsible  for  the  work,  but  as  I  know 
of  her  temperament  and  her  condition  as  such 
times,  I  consider  myself  responsible  for  her. 
She  possesses  almost  limitless  power  for  harm 
with  her  broad  ideas  of  love,  her  intensity,  spirit- 
uality and  knowledge." 

"  Has  she  made  use  of  this  broad  knowledge 
in  this  manuscript,  doctor?" 

Doctor  Oldham  frowned  upon  the  persistent 
woman  beside  him,  and  then,  meeting  the  clear, 
dark  eyes  so  like  a  child's  in  depth  and  sweet- 
ness, smiled  slowly,  as  he  replied  : 

"  She    has    done    this    to    some  extent,  Miss 


Drama  of  a  Life.  33 

Campbell.  She  has  peculiar  ideas  regarding 
social  life  and  laws  and  many  other  things,  and 
wrote  this  manuscript  from  her  standpoint." 

"  In  consequence  ol  which  you  refuse  to  give 
it  up  ?" 

"  I  do.  I  should  not,  otherwise,  consider 
myself  her  friend.  When  I  tell  you  that  this 
manuscript  written  under  these  intense  circum- 
stances and  with  her  extraordinary  views  might 
— remember,  I  only  say  it  might — do  more 
harm  in  its  way  than  that  other  manuscript 
written  years  ago  for  a  novel — as  this  is — and, 
being  found  after  the  author's  death,  was 
accepted  as  a  revelation,  and  laid  as  the  corner- 
stone of  that  deadly  stain  of  Mormonism  in  our 
country — you  will  fully  agree  with  me,  1  am 
sure,  in  my  wish  to  withhold  it  from  effecting 
harm  to  its  author  or  others." 

Miss  Campbell  arose  and  faced  the  physician 
quietly,  with  a  shadow  upon  her  face.  He  also 
arose  courteously,  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

"I  thank  you,  Doctor  Oldham,"  she  said, 
gently,  "  for  your  kind  attention  this  morning. 


34  Lida   Campbell,  or 

I  respect  your  wish  to  protect  your  friend.  I 
shall,  of  course,  make  known  to  her  my  failure 
in  this,  and  could  not  in  any  case  undertake  its 
publication.  But,"  the  pretty  lips  were  rather 
stern  and  the  dark  eyes  searching,  "  can  you 
honestly  say  that  you  consider  such  a  person 
responsible — fit  to  be  at  large — perfectly  sane?" 

No  hesitation  now  in  his  ready  response. 

"  Undoubtedly.  I  consider  her  perfectly  sane, 
madam." 


CHAPTER   III. 

A  STARTLING  QUESTION. 

The  day  appointed  for  the  return  of  Miss 
Campbell's  strange  visitor  came  and  went,  but 
the  woman  did  not  appear.  Miss  Campbell  was 
not  at  all  disturbed  by  this,  because,  in  spite  of 
the  physician's  assurance,  she  believed  the 
woman  a  fit  subject  for  an  asylum.  For  might 
not  Doctor  Oldham,  notwithstanding  his  posi- 
tion in  his  professional  and  social  life,  claim  that 
he  had  "  reasons "  for  upholding  his  friend's 


Drama  of  a  Life.  35 

sanity,  even  though  he  at  times  considered  her, 
as  he  stated,  "  irresponsible  ?" 

In  one  sense,  this  would  be  a  breach  of  trust 
and  a  resort  to  unprofessional  measures  to  pro- 
tect a  sister  disciple  of  this  uncanny  faith  ;  still, 
might  he  not  argue  that  outside  of  those  times 
when  these  trances  were  upon  her  she  was 
perfectly  sane  and  quite  harmless  ? 

One,  two,  three  weeks  passed,  and  Miss 
Campbell  herself  had  almost  forgotten  that 
there  was  such  a  person  as  Olive  Price  in 
existence,  when  one  morning,  sitting  at  the  desk 
in  the  outer  office  during  the  absence  of  Miss 
Randall,  and  while  she  was  transacting  business 
with  two  ladies  who  desired  chaperons,  she 
glanced  up  toward  the  outer  door  with  an 
uncomfortable  sensation  of  uneasiness. 

Ordinarily  Miss  Campbell's  nerves  were 
steadily  strung ;  her  health  was  perfect  and  her 
cheerful  disposition  kept  back  the  gloomy 
broodings  over  life's  uneven  balance  that  mar  so 
many  otherwise  happy  lives.  But  as  she  started 
involuntarily,  glancing  up,  there  was  good 


36  Lida   Campbell,  or 

cause  to  unsettle  even  a  stronger  nature  than 
her  own.  She  controlled  herself  instantly  and 
continued  calmly  speaking  as  though  nothing 
had  occurred. 

But  something  had  occurred  ! 

One  half  of  this  outer  door  was  of  plate  glass 
and  was  draped  with  a  sash  curtain  of  yellow 
silk  gathered  upon  a  slender  rod.  This  was 
partly  drawn  aside  in  the  center,  and  through 
this  she  recognized  her  strange  visitor  of  three 
weeks  previous,  peering  in  upon  her,  her  pecu- 
liar, far-away  eyes  holding  some  subtle  flame,  an 
intentness  upon  her  face  as  she  concentrated  her 
gaze  upon  Miss  Campbell's  animated  face,  that 
was  startling  in  the  extreme. 

A  half-wild,  half-savage,  marvelously  power- 
ful gaze  it  was,  as  though  from  the  fire  within 
herself  she  would  awaken  an  answering  flame  in 
this  other  woman's  soul.  And  strong  though 
she  was,  Miss  Campbell  felt  this  magnetism  and 
was  for  an  instant  terrified. 

To  regain  her  self-control,  Miss  Campbell 
turned  away  her  face.  When  she  again  glanced 


Drama  of  a  Life.  37 

toward  the  door,  the  woman  was  gone.  But  she 
left  behind  her  an  awakened  fear  in  Miss  Camp- 
bell's breast  which,  with  all  her  strong  common 
sense  and  clear  judgment,  she  could  not  at  once 
shake  from  her.  She  was  deadly  pale — so  pale 
that  her  visitors  questioned  if  she  were  ill.  It  was 
evident  to  them  that  some  powerful  emotion 
possessed  her.  Her  lips  trembled,  too,  when  she 
replied  to  their  inquiries. 

With  a  strong  assertion  of  her  will,  she  com- 
manded her  terror  and  controlled  her  voice,  but 
the  pallor  would  not  give  place  to  healthful 
color  at  her  bidding.  She  was  more  than 
startled  ;  she  was  intensely  angry  with  herself 
for  this  weakness.  Doctor  Oldham's  words 
returned  to  her  with  new  meaning  and  power  : 

"  I  wonder  that  you  have  not  felt  her  influence 
during  your  conversation  with  her,  Miss  Camp- 
bell." 

Was  she,  indeed,  to  feel  her  influence  ?  Would 
it  be  to  her  harm?  She  had  too  much  common 
sense,  too  strong  a  nature  to  yield  to  such  subtle 
power  without  a  struggle ;  but  would  it 


38  Lida  Campbell,  or 

overpower  even  her  at  length  ?  She  could  not 
believe  that  possible ;  and  yet  why  should  she  be 
so  terrified  and  deadly  sick  and  weak  and 
trembling  ?  Those  fiery,  beautiful  eyes  seemed 
burning  into  her  own  still,  although  the  woman 
herself  was  gone.  If  she  were  present,  would  it, 
indeed.be  impossible  to  prove  her  power? 

Nevertheless,  she  would  not  yield  without  a 
struggle ;  so  she  crushed  down  this  startled  line 
of  thought  and  the  fear  that  found  place  beside 
it,  and  replied  quietly  to  the  kind  inquiries 
regarding  her  health,  and  presently,  by  her 
power  of  concentration,  she  had  utterly  routed 
the  influence. 

Not  until  these  visitors  were  gone  and  she 
was  again  alone,  awaiting  Miss  Randall's  return, 
did  the  thought  and  sensation  return.  Then  it 
was  with  renewed  power  that  set  aside  all  will 
to  overcome  it,  because  there  was  no  immediate 
object  as  defense ;  and  once  more,  glancing 
instinctively  toward  the  door,  Miss  Campbell 
realized  that  her  strange  visitor  was  regarding 
her  frorq  the  doorwav. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  39 

This  time,  however,  she  did  not  go  away 
again.  She  pushed  open  the  door,  and  entered 
gravely  and  calmly,  as  though  nothing  ever  had 
or  could  ruffle  her  perfect  serenity. 

"  I  have  come  again,  my  dear,"  she  said,  in  her 
soft,  languid,  yet  intense  voice.  "  I  said  that  I 
should  return,  and  I  am  come." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Campbell,  crisply,  wishing 
that  Miss  Randall  would  hasten.  "  Will  you  be 
seated,  madam  ?" 

The  woman  apparently  either  did  not  hear  or 
would  not  heed  the  coldly  courteous  remark. 
She  stood  undisturbed  before  the  desk,  facing 
Miss  Campbell,  yet  scarcely  glancing  at  her. 

"  From  your  face  and  from  inner  convictions, 
I  think  that  you  did  not  succeed  with  my  friend, 
Miss  Campbell." 

"  I  did  not,"  replied  Miss  Campbell,  unaccount- 
ably softening  toward  the  beautiful,  calm  woman, 
in  spite  of  the  growing  anger  in  her  heart  at  this 
defeat  of  her  stern  determination  to  have  no 
further  intercourse  with  this  woman  than  mere 
courtesy  demanded. 


46  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  He  refused  to  give  up  the  manuscript  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  knew  that  he  would  before  you  went,"  was 
the  cool  rejoinder,  a  half  smile  on  the  quiet  face. 
"  I  wished  to  test  you,  that  was  all.  I  wished, 
too  " — the  smile  grew  instantly  brilliant,  like 
light  upon  her  face,  and  died  as  swiftly — "  that 
you  should  learn  that  I  had  told  you  the  truth." 

"Why  should  I  doubt  that?"  asked  Miss 
Campbell,  in  a  softened  voice.  "  How  could  I 
doubt  it,  madam  ?" 

"  Everything  that  I  told  you  he  confirmed  ?" 

"  Everything  essential — yes." 

"  And  he  even  went  farther,"  continued  this 
strange  woman,  for  an  instant  letting  her  eyes 
rest  upon  Miss  Campbell's  dark  eyes  with  that 
hint  of  burning  flame  within  them.  "  He  told 
you  that  we  are  a  strange  family  ;  that  my  power 
is  almost  limitless  ;  that  my  mother  was  intensely 
an  angel  and  demon  ;  that  she  adored  my  father 
one  moment 'and  hated  him  as  fiercely  the  next  ; 
that  she  could  lift  his  soul  to  heaven  or  cast  it 


Drama  of  a  Life.  41 

down  to  hell,  as  her  moods  dictated.  He  told 
you  this  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  he  also  tell  you  of  my  brother?  I  have 
a  brother,  Miss  Campbell,  as  I  told  you.  We 
were  to  have  had  the  fortune  equally,  but  he  won 
upon  our  parents,  and  they  left  me  a  paltry  sum, 
and  he  had  the  remainder.  Did  he  tell  you  that 
my  brother  fails  in  the  family  characteristic  of 
combined  fire  and  ice  ?  That  he  sets  aside  his 
sister's  claim,  and  refuses  room  in  his  memory 
for  me,  of  whom  he  was  afraid  even  before  I 
gave  up  my  home  and  family  for  my  lover? 
No,  he  did  not  tell  you  this !  Neither  did  he  tell 
you  " — her  right  hand  was  clenched  upon  the 
desk,  and  she  leaned  forward  with  flaming  eyes 
and  colorless  face — neither  did  he  tell  you  that 
my  brother  took  my  father's  life  !  That  it  was 
his  hand  dropped  the  belladonna  into  his  medi- 
cine while  he  lay  ill,  of  which  they  tried  to  accuse 
me !  You  start,  Miss  Campbell.  This,  too,  is 
truth.  I  saw  him  drop  the  poison  myself.  I 
knew  that  he  desired  my  father's  death.  I 


42  Lida  Campbell,  or 

watched  him  go  to  my  father's  room  in  the  dead 
of  night,  and  I  followed  him.  I  was  hidden  by 
the  curtained  doorway,  and  he  does  not  dream 
that  I  know." 

A  new  horror  touched  Miss  Campbell.  She 
was  restless  and  nervous.  She  could  not  endure 
to  sit  idly  listening  to  these  strange  revelations. 

"  It  you  know  that  he  poisoned  your  father, 
•why  do  you  not  make  the  truth  known?"  she 
demanded,  half  angrily. 

The  fire  and  anger  were  gone  from  the 
woman's  face.  The  far-away  look  was  once 
more  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  she  said,  quietly. 
"  We  tell  no  tales  in  our  family.  He  is  my 
brother ;  why  should  I  have  given  him  up  to 
justice?  My  father  was  hard;  he  made  my 
mother  often  unhappy.  If  my  brother  chose  to 
mete  justice  to  him,  what  had  I  to  say  ?" 

Miss  Campbell  was  growing  more  and  more 
afraid  of  this  woman  who  could  speak  so  care- 
lessly of  death.  She  wished  that  Miss  Randall 
would  return.  In  her  heart  she  believed  that 


Drama  of  a  Life.  43 

she  was  conversing  with  an  insane  person,  and 
she  did  now  know  whether  or  not  it  was  her 
duty  to  notify  the  authorities. 

Then  the  woman  crossed  the  short  space 
between  them  and  paused  beside  her,  laying  her 
hand  upon  Miss  Campbell's  shoulder,  with  her 
eyes  bent  steadily  down  upon  Miss  Campbell's 
tace.  Miss  Campbell  felt  that  her  color  was 
fluctuating,  that  her  heart  was  throbbing  with 
few  alarm.  She  was  alone. 

"  My  dear,"  the  visitor  said,  and  her  voice  was 
now  very  soft,  very  persuasive,  and  very  slow 
and  her  magnetic  eyes  forced  and  held  the  gaze 
of  the  dark  eyes,  "  I  came  to  you  because  1  felt 
that  you  could  help  me  and  because  I  need  help. 
I  knew  when  I  came  that  you  could  help  me  if 
you  would." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  assist  you  in  any  way  that 
I  can,"  said  Miss  Campbell,  with  strange 
apathy.  "  What  is  it  that  you  wish  ?" 

The  eyes  meeting  hers  seemed  for  an  instant 
like  glowing  stars.  It  seemed  to  Miss  Campbell 
— and  she  realized  it  in  a  helpless  sort  of  fashion 


44  Lida  Campbell,  or 

—that  this  woman  with  her  eyes  was  drawing 
her  very  soul  from  her.  But  she  could  not 
rise ;  could  not  shake  off  her  touch  upon  her 
shoulder ;  could  not  even  command  her 
thought. 

A  visitor  ascending  the  steps  discomfited  the 
woman.  She  moved  uneasily  aside,  and  with- 
drew her  hand  from  Miss  Campbell's  shoulder. 
The  fire  left  her  eyes.  Her  face  was  perfectly 
impassive. 

"  I  have  much  to  say  to  you,"  she  said, 
quietly ;  "  but  I  cannot  say  it  here  where  we  are 
liable  to  disturbance.  I  must  see  you  alone. 
Can  you  not  grant  me  a  moment  in  the  inner 
room  as  upon  my  first  visit  ?" 

Miss  Campbell  overcame  the  uncomfortable 
sensation  that  had  fallen  upon  her  and  rose,  mov- 
ing a  little  away  from  the  woman.  Her  face 
was  very  pale  but  strong  and  stern.  She  feared 
this  Olive  Price,  this  strange  woman,  who  might, 
for  all  she  knew,  for  all  the  physician  knew,  be 
a  fit  subject  for  an  asylum.  Yet  she  would 


Drama  of  a  Life.  45 

not  betray  her  fear  more  than  this  pallor 
betrayed  it. 

"  Anything  that  1  can  do  for  you  I  shall  be 
glad  to  do,  madam,"  she  said,  coldly ;  "  but  I 
cannot  leave  the  office  until  my  assistant  returns, 
and  even  then  I  can  grant  you  but  a  very  few 
moments  privately.  My  time  is  never  my  own 
during  the  day.  If  you  choose  to  wait  until  I 
can  see  you  alone,  I  will  do  so." 

"  Very  well.  Yes,  I  will  wait,"  was  the  quiet 
reply.  "  I  must  speak  to  you  to-day.  Added 
time  means  only  added  pain." 

She  seated  herself  near  the  window,  leaning 
back  and  closing  her  eyes  as  though  intensely 
weary ;  and,  Miss  Campbell,  glancing  at  her 
occasionally,  while  attending  to  the  desires  of 
her  caller,  felt  almost  tender  pity  in  her  heart 
for  the  sorrow  that  had  sifted  snow  upon  that 
beautiful  head  and  seamed  the  delicate  fore- 
head. 

When  Miss  Randall  returned  a  few  minutes 
later,  Miss  Campbell  went  with  her  strange  vis- 
itor into  her  private  room,  afraid  yet  brave, 


46  Lido,  Campbell,  or 

repelled  yet  irresistibly  drawn  toward  hen 
She  had  the  word  of  one  of  the  best  physicians 
In  the  city  that  she  was  perfectly  sane,  yet  in 
her  own  mind  she  firmly  believed  that  she  was 
not, 

"  Now,  madam,"  she  said,  when  they  were 
seated,  "  1  am  ready  to  give  you  my  attention, 
but  I  must  ask  you  to  detain  me  no  longer  than 
is  necessary," 

"  Yes,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "  I  see  from  your 
windows  that  you  transact  all  sorts  of  business, 
Miss  Campbell." 

"  Legitimate  business,  yes,"  interrupted  Miss 
Campbell,  distinctly. 

"  Legitimate  business,  of  course,"  conceded 
the  woman,  unmoved.  '  "And  commissions. 
You  can  procure  me  a  lawyer,  can  you  not,  if  I 
desire  one?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Campbell,  still  coldly. 

"  I  wish  to  make  a  will.  I  must  have  a  lawyer 
for  it." 

"  Your  own  will  ?" 


Drama  of  a  Life.  47 

The  woman  eyed  her  for  a  moment  in  silence, 
and  that  strange  flame  touched  her  eyes. 

"  Not  my  own,"  she  said. 

Miss  Campbell  laughed,  shrugging  her 
shoulders. 

"  But  you  cannot  make  another's  will,"  she 
said,  easily.  She  had  now  no  doubt  of  the 
woman's  insanity.  "  I  could  not  find  you  a  law- 
yer for  that,  madam  !  You  cannot  will  away 
another  person's  property,  you  know." 

Those  eyes  were  still  upon  her  own,  but  she 
had  regained  her  spirit  and  was  unmoved. 

"  No,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "  I  know  that, 
Miss  Campbell,  but  it  could  be  made  to  look  like 
his  own." 

"  Whose,  madam  ?" 

"  I  told  you  I  have  a  brother." 

"  Yes." 

"  That  all  the  property  went  to  him,  save  a 
paltry  sum  to  myself." 

"  Yes." 

"  There  is  nothing  stands  between  the  fortune 
and  me  but  his  life!  He  is  unmarried.  When 


48  Lida   Campbell,  or 

he  dies  the  money  will  come  to  me.  He  is 
young  and  there  may  be  a  long  life  for  him.  He 
is  indifferent  to  me.  He  is  the  president  of  a 
stock  company  here,  but  his  residence  is  in  a 
town  in  Connecticut." 

"  Do  you,  then,  wish,"  asked  Miss  Campbell, 
very  quietly,  very  distinctly, "  to  have  me  secure 
you  a  lawyer  to  forge  your  brother's  will  ?" 

The  woman  nodded.  A  light  came  into  her 
face. 

"  I  do,"  she  said. 

For  a  moment  Miss  Campbell  paused.  A 
glow  deepened  upon  her  cheeks  and  her  eyes 
flashed.  She  started  to  speak,  and  paused,  as 
the  woman  continued,  waiting  for  no  reply  : 

"I  have  a  special  commission  for  you,  Miss 
Campbell.  I  was  impelled  to  come  to  you, 
assured  that  you  would  assist  me  in  it.  I  have 
told  you  much,  reserving  little.  Can  you  find 
me  a  man  to  fill  the  position  of  valet — one  who  is 
faithful  and  silent — one  who  will  obey  without 
questioning  ?  I  wish  such  a  man  to  be  about  my 
brother  constantly  ;  to  serve  him ;  to  obey 


Drama  of  a  Life.  49 

implicitly.  As  I  told  you,  my  brother  refuses  to 
recognize  me,  or  I  would  myself  see  that  he  was 
well  cared  for.  He  is  my  brother,  in  spite  of  his 
unkiridness  to  me." 

"  But,  surely,"  Miss  Campbell  said,  inwardly 
trembling  with  excitement,  but  outwardly  calm, 
"your  brother  has  servants  of  his  own  household 
to  attend  him  ;  has  he  not,  madam  ?" 

"  Yes.  But  I  wish  some  one  to  go  whom  I 
know,  whom  I  can  trust.  My  brother  might  be 
very  ill — who  knows? — he  might  even  die,  Miss 
Campbe.ll !" 

Lida  Campbell  arose.  The  flash  in  her  eyes 
and  the  glow  on  her  cheeks  were  brilliant.  The 
slim  fingers  of  one  hand  grasped  the  back  of  her 
chair  for  support.  She  was  drawn  to  her  full 
height. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  madam  " — she  com- 
manded her  voice  with  an  effort  and  spoke  very 
slowly — "  that  you  wish  me  not  only  to  secure 
you  a  lawyer  who  will  forge  you  a  will  but  also 
a  man  to  murder  your  brother?" 

Not  the  quiver  of  an  eyelash,  not  a  change  in 


50  Lida  Campbell,  or 

the  immovable  face,  only  the  warning  fire  in  the 
great  magnetic  eyes  now  steadily  fixed  upon 
Miss  Campbell's  excited  face,  as  the  visitor 
replied,  distinctly  : 

"  Why  not?  Did  not  my  brother  murder  my 
father?  Is  it  not  retribution?  It  will  be  a 
magnificent  fortune — almost  beyond  your  belief 
— and  I  will  give  you  one  half  of  it  if  you  will 
help  me  !" 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ON     THE    ROAD. 

And  East  and  West,  without  a  breath, 
Mix  their  dim  lights,  like  life  and  death, 
To  broaden  into  boundless  day. 

TENNYSON. 

The  horses  were  impatient  to  be  off,  and  the 
young  man  in  the  light  road-wagon,  at  the 
entrance  to  the  handsome  island  residence,  held 
them  in  with  difficulty.  A  fine-looking  young 
man  he  was,  thirty  years  of  age,  wealthy,  aristo- 
cratic, with  a  face  somewhat  too  lacking  in  color; 


Drama  of  a  Life.  51 

for  health,  but  evincing  a  strong,  independent 
nature. 

One  of  the  horses  plunged,  the  other  replied 
with  a  snort  and  champing  at  the  bit,  one  slender 
hoof  striking  the  gravel  of  the  drive. 

"  Whoa  !"  commanded  the  young  man,  with  a 
firm  hand  on  the  lines.  A  pleasant  voice — clear 
and  incisive.  "  Stand  still  there,  Caliban ;  be 
quiet,  Macbeth  !  There  is  absolutely  no  peace 
when  you  are  in  harness,  until  you  are  free  to 
go.  Hello  !  I  say,  Hastings !  If  you're  not  out 
here  in  double-quick  time,  these  beasts  won't 
stand.  It  will  take  a  gladiator  to  hold  them,  in 
one  minute." 

The  rattling  sound  of  boots  on  the  polished 
stairs  and  through  the  hall,  and  a  young  man, 
flushed  with  haste  but  laughing,  dashed  out 
across  the  piazza,  off  the  steps  in  one  leap  and 
into  the  gayly  painted  buckboard  beside  his 
friend  ;  a  light  word  of  command  to  the  boy 
standing  at  the  horses'  heads,  a  clatter  of  hoofs 
on  the  hard  drive,  and  the  light  wagon,  with  its 


52  Lida  Campbell,  or 

occupants,  was  whirling  away  between  the  low 
beach  wall  and  the  handsomely  laid-out  lawn. 

"  I  tell  you,  Price,  old  boy,"  protested  the  last 
comer,  laughingly, "  these  grays  of  yours  give  a 
fellow  no  time  to  half  complete  his  toilet!  I 
couldn't,  for  the  life  of  me,  tell,  at  this  minute, 
whether  my  tie  is  on  or  my  boots  mates  or  my 
headgear  a  hat  or  a  night-cap.  They're  jolly 
boys  to  travel,  but,  by  George,  they  keep  one 
on  the  qui  vive  worse  than  a  woman !" 

His  companion  laughed.  The  grays  were  in 
truth  going  at  high  speed,  over  the  curved 
drive,  around  the  beautiful  estate,  toward  the 
gate  leading  on  to  the  meadow  road ;  the  soft 
wind  struck  to  a  stiff  breeze  by  the  rapidity  of 
their  motion,  the  heavy  fragrance  from  the 
shrubs  and  flower-beds  drifting  by  as  though  it 
were  sweeping  over  the  blue  water  and  across 
the  wide  stretch  of  Sound  to  the  ocean  far 
away. 

"  They're  jolly  boys,  indeed,"  was  the  laugh- 
ing reply.  "  I  warn  you,  Hastings,  before  the 
summer  is  half  over,  you  will  forget  that  there  is 


Drama  of  a  Life.  53 

such  a  thing  as  a  fastidious  toilet  if  you  ride 
behind  this  team.  I  never  order  them  around 
unless  I  am  ready  on  the  instant.  Poor  Jim  has 
a  wholesome  terror  of  standing  at  their  heads." 

"  1  appreciate  his  sensations,"  said  Hastings, 
"  if  they  happen  to  be  anything  like  my  own 
when  I  am  dressing  for  a  spin  with  you  !  Lacey 
threatens  to  give  warning  every  afternoon  at 
this  particular  hour.  I  do  cut  up  pretty  rough, 
I  suppose,  all  owing  to  you  and  your  horses,  Lee 
Price !" 

"Where  are  Morgan  and  the  other  fellows? 
Not  Curtis — no  need  of  asking  for  Phil  Curtis  ! 
It  goes  without  saying  that  he  is  on  the  beach  or 
off  among  the  islands  with  his  canvas  and 
brushes  catching  '  effects.'  I  think  that  he 
would  find  it  much  more  effective  to  invest  his 
capital  in  stocks  and  bonds  instead  of  paint  and 
canvas.  There's  big  Everett  now  making  a 
fortune  in  that  line — " 

"  Yes,  there  is  big  Everett,"  replied  Price, 
laughing.  "  Intensely  big,  Hastings,  and  in  for 
a  good  time  as  well  as  a  fortune.  Still,  of  the 


54  Lida  Campbell,  or 

two,  I  prefer  little  Phil's  tastes.  Say  what  you 
will,  he  gives  us  excellent  pictures.  Remem- 
ber, he  isn't  Methuselah  yet,  and  art  to  him  is  in 
its  infancy — " 

"  For  such  an  infant  he  is  a  prodigy ;  eh, 
Price  ?  I  should  have  remembered  your  motto 
of  a  good  word  for  all  or  silence.  Silence 
instead  of  charity  covers  a  multitude  of  sins — 
with  you — old  fellow  !" 

An  affectionate  voice  in  spite  of  the  laughter 
along  the  words.  A  warm  glance  of  regard 
from  the  black  eyes  into  the  brown.  Hastings 
removed  a  speck  of  dust  from  his  coat-sleeve 
with  scrupulous  care,  as  though  his  whole 
thought  were  given  to  that,  and  Lee  Price 
uttered  a  short  word  of  command  to  the  already 
flying  horses  ;  but  each  understood  the  other's 
deeper  feeling. 

"  By  the  way,  I  forgot  to  reply  to  your  inquiry 
regarding  Morgan  and  Burnside,  Tom,"  said 
Lee  Price,  presently.  They  had  left  the  road 
over  the  salt  meadows  and  were  whirling  along 
the  wide  road  toward  the  town,  the  horses  per- 


Drama  of  a  Life.  55 

fectly  matched,  and  with  arched  neck  and  high- 
stepping  pace,  the  strong  hand  on  the  lines  prov- 
ing that  a  master  hold  controlled  them.  "  Mor- 
gan and  Burnside  are  out  in  the  Sound  by  the 
Old  Cow  rock  just  off  Narvoo,  black  fishing.  I 
scarcely  thought  it  necessary  to  tell  you  that 
any  more  than  to  tell  of  Phil's  whereabouts. 
They're  always  fishing,  you  know.  Went  out 
with  the  tide  just  before  lunch,  taking  a  bite 
with  them.  In  consequence  of  which,  prepare 
your  appetite  for  a  course  of  delicious  fish,  with 
the  fresh  flavor  of  the  sea  upon  it.  In  my  esti- 
mation there  is  no  such  fish  to  be  eaten." 

"  Or  caught,"  added  Hastings,  with  a  signifi- 
cant shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  Those  two 
fellows  are  stuck  on  that  sport,  Price.  Never 
saw  anything  like  them.  If  the  world  should 
turn  back  in  its  orbit  their  sure  panacea  would 
be  black-fishing.  Hello!  The  deuce!  What's 
the  matter  with  you,  Lee  ?" 

The  hold  upon  the  reins  had  relaxed ;  the 
hand,  so  firmly  upon  them  an  instant  before,  fell 
powerless  upon  the  lap-robe ;  the  young  man's 


56  Lida  Campbell,  or 

face  was  ashen  white  and  his  lips  pressed  down 
as  though  to  silence  some  cry  of  agony.  His 
eyes  were  strained  and  great  drops  of  sweat 
started  upon  his  forehead.  It  was  only  by 
marvelous  effort  that  he  retained  his  seat. 

"What  is  it?"  Tom  Hastings  inquired,  in 
alarm,  catching  up  the  lines  in  one  hand  and 
throwing  his  other  arm  around  his  companion's 
shoulder.  "  Whoa,  you  devils  !  Whoa,  I  say  !" 
for  the  horses,  recognizing  instantly  another 
hand  than  their  master's  upon  the  lines,  started 
into  a  canter. 

"  By  the  lord  Harry,  but  I'll  pull  your  teeth 
out  if  I  cannot  stop  you  any  other  way  !"  And 
by  sheer  strength  of  muscle  he  brought  the 
animals  back  upon  their  haunches  with  an 
uncomfortable  lurch  to  the  carriage. 

"  Now,  then,  my  dear  old  boy,  what  is  it  ? 
Judging  from  your  appearance  and  this  minute's 
experience  with  the  lines,  I  should  say  that  the 
horses  had  pulled  the  life  out  of  you.  Why, 
man,  you're  like  death.  Where  is  the  nearest 


Drama  of  a  Life.  57 

physician?  You  should  have  immediate  atten- 
tion—" 

Lee  Price  stopped  further  protestation  by  a 
gesture.  With  a  powerful  attempt,  he  mastered 
the  spasm  of  suffering  and  forced  himself  to 
smile.  He  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  lines, 
and  it  was  trembling  violently.  For  a  moment 
speech  was  beyond  him,  but  otherwise  he 
recovered  his  self-command. 

"  It's  of  no  use  for  you  to  grab  at  the  lines  like 
that,"  said  Tom  Hastings,  with  calm  determina- 
tion, holding  them  beyond  his  friend's  reach. 
"  You  shall  not  touch  them  again  to-day.  Come 
now,  you  may  as  well  obey  me.  I  will  have  my 
way.  Pick  up  your  feet  there, you  fellows — go! 
Now,  my  dear  boy,  tell  me  what  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?  I  am  going  to  take  you  at  once  to  a 
physician ;  so  you  may  as  well  tell  me  first. 
I'll  make  it  easier  for  you  when  we  get  there. 
Something  extraordinary,  let  me  tell  you,  to 
change  a  man  like  that.  By  Jove !  For  a 
moment  I  thought  you  were  dying." 

The  gravity  upon  his  friend's  face  silenced  his 


5  8  Lida  Campbell,  or 

volubility.  The  horses  were  traveling  at  high 
speed,  but  under  control.  If  the  master's  hand 
were  not  upon  the  lines,  at  least  they  were  under 
as  powerful  guidance.  The  wind  fanning  the 
young  man's  face  helped  on  his  recovery.  He 
turned  to  his  companion  with  a  smile  that 
lighted  wonderfully  his  white,  grave  face. 

"  Come,  old  man,"  said  Tom  Hastings,  quietly. 
"There's  a  skeleton  in  all  of  our  closets  and  a 
skeleton  under  all  flesh.  Tell  me  frankly,  that 
so  I  may  be  of  service  to  you.  Is  it  heart- 
disease,  this  trouble  ?" 

"  No,"  was  the  quiet  answer,  all  sign  of  suffer- 
ing gone,  save  that  deadly  pallor  upon  his  face, 
as  young  Price  reached  out  his  hand  for  the 
lines.  "  I  am  all  right  now,  Tom.  It  only  lasts 
a  moment." 

"  You  have  had  it  before,  then,  Lee  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  it  is  not  heart-disease?" 

"  No." 

After  a  moment,  Price  added,  slowly: 

"  1  know  that  I  can  trust  you,  Tom." 


Drama  of  a  Life.  59 

"  Utterly,  old  fellow." 

"  As  I  say,  these  attacks  are  not  new  ;  they 
began  two  months  ago,  in  a  scarcely  perceptible 
manner,  but  steadily  growing  worse  and  more 
frequent.  I  have  been  to  expert  physicians  here 
and  in  the  city.  Not  one  of  them  can  solve  the 
malady." 

Silence,  save  for  the  swift  thud  of  the  horse- 
hoofs  and  the  whir  of  the  wheels  over  the  hard 
street.  They  were  in  the  town  and  going  at  a 
more  sober  pace. 

"Price,"  said  Hastings,  gravely  and  rather 
hoarsely,  "  there  must  be  some  cause  and  some 
remedy  for  this  disease.  How  does  it  happen 
that  we  have  not  noticed  it  before  ?  How  have 
you  endured  it  ?" 

"  The  attacks  usually  occur  at  night,"  replied 
Price,  quietly,  "and  are  most  violent  then. 
Only  twice  have  they  come  upon  me  during  the 
day,  and  then  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  be 
alone  ;  once  in  my  room  and  once  on  the  road. " 

"  With  these  horses  ?" 

"Yes;   but  they  are  perfectly  safe/'  he  has- 


60  Lida  Campbell,  or 

tened  to  add,  seeing  the  concern  upon  his  friend's 
face. 

"  Perfectly  safe,  yes,"  was  the  scornful  retort. 
"  Perfectly  safe  to  smash  you  to  flinders  if  they 
get  a  chance,  you  mean  !  I  shall  never  again 
feel  at  ease  if  you  ride  behind  them  alone,  Lee. 
Give  me  your  word,  like  a  good  fellow,  that  you 
will  not  attempt  it.  Come,  that  is  easy  to  grant. 
Thanks.  And  you  have  been  to  all  the  best 
doctors,  Price?  Every  one?  And  not  one  can 
solve  it  ?  By  Jove  !  But  it's  mighty  strange  ! 
You  were  always  such  a  healthy  fellow." 

By  and  by  he  added  slowly,  the  shadow  still 
upon  his  face  as  when  first  his  companion  made 
known  the  truth  : 

"  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  it  at  all,  Price.  It's 
amazingly  strange.  If  we  were  characters  in  a 
novel  instead  of  real  life,  I  should  suggest  the 
possibility  of  some  secret  enemy.  But  that  is 
altogether  out  of  date.  Nevertheless,  it  is  queer, 
to  say  the  least.  Is  there  nothing  gives  you 
relief?" 

"  Nothing — that  is,  nothing  unless  it  is  coffee. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  61 

I  had  such  an  attack  as  this  three  days  ago,  just 
before  breakfast,  and  ordered  up  a  cup  of  strong 
coffee.  It  relieved  me  at  once,  or  the  attack 
passed  off  of  itself  at  the  time  ;  I  cannot  posi- 
tivly  say  as  to  that.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  ?" 

"  Going  to  send  you  in  there  to  get  a  cup  of 
the  strongest  coffee  you  can  swallow  or  the  chef 
can  devise,"  replied  Hastings,  emphatically,  as 
he  pulled  up  at  the  Mahacamo  Hotel.  "  They'll 
get  it  for  you.  I  would  go  with  you,  but  I  shall 
have  to  remain  w^ith  these  devils.  Go  in  and 
try  it,  Price.  We'll  see  how  it  acts." 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  my  dear  fellow !"  said  Price, 
laughing,  now  quite  recovered.  "  I  am  all  right 
as  it  is.  How  could  you  tell  whether  or  not  it 
were  the  coffee  when  I  did  not  have  it  imme- 
diately ?  Come.  I  regret  the  necessity  of  having 
given  you  this  uncomfortable  turn,  and  promise 
better  in  the  future." 

"  No,  you  don't !"  retorted  Hastings,  with 
unusual  sternness.  "  If  you  will  not  go  in  your- 
self 1  shall  order  it  brought  out  here,  and  thai 


62  Lida  Campbell,  or 

wouldn't  be  specially  pleasant  for  you  in  full 
view  of  the  town.  I  give  you  just  one  second 
to  choose.  I'm  in  dead  earnest,  too." 

Price,  seeing  that  this  was  true,  from  one 
glance  into  the  set  face  of  his  companion, 
alighted  with  an  attempt  at  a  joke  at  his  own 
expense  and  entered  the  hotel.  He  walked  very 
erect  and  steadily,  a  proud,  well-built  figure  and 
a  manly  face,  although  the  pallor  of  a  moment 
before  deepened  upon  it  as  a  touch  of  the  old 
pain  struck  along  his  nerves  as  he  sprang  to  the 
pavement. 

"  I'll  not  be  gone  long,"  he  said,  turning  in  the 
doorway.  "  Keep  a  steady  rein  and  they're  all 
right,  Hastings." 

"  All  right,"  said  Hastings,  concisely.  "  I'm 
not  afraid  for  them,  Lee. 

"  But  I  am  afraid  for  you,  Mr.  Lee  Price,"  he 
added  to  himself,  with  a  deepening  of  the 
shadow  upon  his  face,  his  eyes  upon  the  alert 
ears  of  the  horses :  "  and  when  you  come  out  of 
there  I  shall  escort  you  to  the  best  doctor  in  this 
tpwn  and  hear  what  he  has  to  say.  1  have  my 


Drama  of  a  Life.  63 

opinion,  but  I  should  like  his  also.  I'm  not  so 
easily  turned  when  you  are  concerned,  my  boy. 
There  are  too  few  fellows  like  you,  and  we'll 
bring  you  through,  if  we  can." 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  DIAGNOSIS. 

We  are  what  we  must 

And  not  what  we  would  be.     I  know  that  one  hour 
Assures  not  another.    The  will  and  the  power 
Are  diverse. 

LUCILLE. 

"Now  then,  Tom,  my  dear  fellow,  you  see 
that  there  is  nothing  wrong  with  me,"  said  Lee 
Price,  lightly,  as  he  sprang  to  his  seat  beside  his 
friend  a  few  moments  later.  "  It  was  but  a 
momentary  inconvenience,  and  you  do  not  know 
how  I  regret  having  disturbed  you.  The  truth 
of  the  matter  is,  I  presume,  that  it  is  so  trivial  as 
to  make  it  impossible  for  any  medical  man  to 
diagnose.  They  wouldn't  care  to  offend  me  by 


64  Lida  Campbell,  or 

saying  it  is  nothing,  so  they  dress  it  up  in  incom- 
prehensible Latin  and  murmur  of  its  mystery. 
Blue  lights  and  that,  you  know.  Come  !  Where 
will  you  go  now  ?  Back  in  the  country,  to  try 
the  mettle  of  the  horses,  or  down  around 
Wilson's  Point,  or  to  the  beach  at  Roton,  or 
uptown  vid  West  avenue,  to  see  the  pretty 
panorama  of  our  pretty  girls  on  the  promenade  ? 
You're  a  connoisseur  in  feminine  beauty,  you 
know." 

Hastings  frowned. 

"  Look  here,  Lee,"  he  said,  as  the  horses, 
champing  at  their  bits,  started  on  slowly,  "  I 
consider  you  my  friend.  A  mighty  good  sort 
of  friend,  too,"  he  added,  and  the  momentary 
smile  on  his  face  was  pleasant  to  see.  "  You 
have  half  a  dozen  of  us  fellows  here  at  your 
bachelor  quarters  for  whom  the  part  of  host 
falls  upon  you.  Now,  that's  all  right  so  far  as 
it  goes,  but  when  it  comes  to  your  undertaking 
our  entertainment  at  a  time  when  you  are  not 
fit  to  do  it,  and  then  turn  pig-headed  about 
caring  for  yourself,  is  just  a  little  too  much. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  65 

That's  a  long  lecture  on  social  versus  healthful 
requirements,  and  sounds  stuffy  ;  but  I  mean  it 
so  far  as  to  declare,  here  and  now,  that  I  abso- 
lutely refuse  further  hospitality  from  you,  unless 
you  first  agree  to  my  wish.  Just  as  a  whim,  as 
a  request  of  one  of  your  guests,  if  you  will,  let 
us  get  Doctor  Graham's  diagnosis  on  your  case. 
It  will  do  no  harm  and  may  prove  an  amuse- 
ment for  an  idle  afternoon.  We  will  tell  him 
we  consider  it  beyond  the  skill  of  any  physician, 
and  hear  what  he  has  to  say  to  that.  He's  a 
good  fellow  out  of  his  profession,  and  we'll  test 
him  in  it." 

Price  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked 
rather  irritable. 

"  Bosh !"  he  said.  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Hastings,  but  no  more  diagnoses  for  me,  if  you 
please.  Choose  your  road  now,  like  a  good 
fellow,  and  say  no  more  about  it.  If  Burnside 
should  hear  us  he  would  have  us  in  an  article  at 
once  as  Connecticut  cranks,  and  we  would  make 
excellent  subjects  for  high  colors  on  little  Phil's 
canvas." 


66  Lida   Campbell,  or 

In  spite  of  his  easy,  jocularity,  there  was  a 
shadow  of  constraint  upon  him,  through  which 
Hastings  felt  that  he  had  no  right  to  break. 
The  subject  was  dropped  for  the  time,  and  the 
breeze  whirling  past  them,  as  the  horses 
gathered  speed  and  dashed  along  the  shady 
avenue,  bore  away  all  trace  of  discomfiture  or 
fear,  and  they  were  jovial  and  easy  in  manner, 
acknowledging  in  high  spirits  the  salutations  of 
riends  and  acquaintances  whom  they  passed. 

"  If  I  were  not  such  a  good-natured  fellow  I 
should  certainly  be  jealous  of  you,"  said  Tom 
Hastings,  laughing ;  "  you're  such  a  favorite, 
Price." 

"  Who  knows,"  said  Price,  with  an  answering 
careless  laugh,  "  but  that  it  is  because  Mr. 
Thomas  Hastings  is  with  me,  old  fellow  ?  Such 
things  be,  you  know," 

But,  in  spite  of  his  apparent  indifference  and 
forgetfulness,  Mr,  Thomas  Hastings  had  firmly 
made  up  his  mind  to  discover,  if  possible,  this 
strange  malady  of  his  friend.  It  was  not  only 
startling,  but  positively  threatening  in  its  very 


Drama  of  a  Life.  67 

incomprehensibility.  A  jdisease  that  has  a  cure 
can  be  named.  A  malady  without  a  name  is  a 
mystery.  He  had  witnessed  the  effect  upon 
Price.  No  such  symptoms  could  exist,  he  said 
to  himself,  without  powerful  cause.  He  would 
do  his  part  to  discover  the  cause  ! 

He  had  not  the  assurance  to  again  mention 
the  matter  to  his  host.  It  was  a  delicate  subject 
at  best,  and  he  hoped  that  none  of  the  other 
fellows  would  learn  of  it.  Not  that  they  would 
be  any  less  thoughtful  than  he,  but  because  it 
was  evidently  his  friend's  wish  to  withhold  the 
knowledge.  They  were  his  guests  for  the 
summer,  and  he  would  not  place  his  own 
trouble  in  the  way  of  their  pleasure. 

That  evening  Lee  Price  was  especially  bril- 
liant. The  rooms  were  awake  until  far  into  the 
morning  with  the  members  of  the  city  club,  and 
after  the  exhaustive  dinner  with  its,  discourses 
and  toasts,  there  were  cigars  and  wine  in  the 
par^rs  and  on  the  piazzas,  and  rollicking  songs, 
rt'ith  popular  airs  upon  the  piano,  and  a  wild, 
weird  song  to  the  low  notes  of  a  mandolin  by 


68  Lida  Campbell,  or 

the  host  himself.  A  weird  song  with  plaintive 
notes  along  the  instrument  that  seemed  to  laugh 
with  the  song  or  murmur  of  pain  or  rise  to  wild 
cries  like  some  wild  thing  of  the  woods. 

A  strange,  fascinating  performance,  and  met 
by  applause  and  an  encore.  Then  the  party 

broke  up,  and  an  hour  later  the  house  was  dark 

• 

and  still  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  with  the  low 
murmur  of  the  waves  upon  the  beach  beyond 
the  wall  and  glimmer  of  moonlight  over  the 
quiet  waters  dotted  with  low,  green  islands 
shadowy  in  the  mystery  of  night. 

"  This  comes  of  being  a  bachelor  and  follow- 
ing one's  own  sweet  will,  boys !"  said  the  young 
host,  as  he  parted  from  his  guests  for  the  night. 
They  were  lingering  in  the  upper  hall  for  a  few 
last  words.  "  It  is  of  no  use  telling  this  to  Mor- 
gan and  Burnside,  and  we  must  confess  they  are 
especially  blest  as  to  their  fiancees,  but  the  rest 
of  you  fellows  should  follow  my  example  and 
keep  to  the  freedom  of  bachelor's  hall !" 

"  If  we  all  had  your  happy  faculty  of  going  in 
for  the  best  and  always  winning,  maybe  it  would 


Drama  of  a  Life.  69 

be,  Price,"  said  Dan  Mayhew,  ruefully.  "  Some- 
how, I'm  certain  to  be  miles  away  when  good 
fortune  comes!" 

"  That's  your  unhappy  faculty,  Dan,"  replied 
his  host,  lightly.  "  The  wheel  of  fortune  will 
turn,  if  you  wait  and  keep  a  firm  grip.  Life  is 
a  pretty  good  thing  in  the  long  run,  you  know." 

"  But  if  it  happens  to  be  short  ?"  suggested 
Ned  Newton,  laughing. 

"Oh,  come  now,  cut  that,  Newton!"  protested 
Morgan,  indignantly.  "  Sermons  don't  come  in 
handy — from  you.  Good  night,  fellows.  I'm 
off  to  sweet  repose." 

"All  the  bed  and  all  the  clothes,"  added 
Curtis,  gayly.  "  That's  you,  Morgan." 

"  You  might  fare  worse,"  retorted  Morgan, 
good  naturedly.  "  Pleasant  dreams,  my  boys  !" 
And  a  door  closing  upon  a  whistled  bar  from 
"  Annie  Rooney  "  broke  up  the  conversation. 

"  But  I  don't  propose  to  be  deterred  by  any 
amount  of  high  spirits,  my  dear  Price,"  Tom 
Hastings  declared  to  himself,  emphatically.  "  If 
I  had  not  seen  with  my  own  eyes,  I  should  be 


70  Lida  Campbell,  or 

inclined  to  doubt  your  illness,  but  as  I  did  see 
it,  I  intend  to  discover  a  remedy,  if  it  is  pos- 
sible." 

And  upon  the  following  day  he  made  the 
attempt. 

To  all  appearances  he  had  entirely  forgotten 
the  scene  on  the  road  the  preceding  day,  neither 
by  word  or  glance  betraying  his  anxiety.  He 
loitered  upon  the  piazza  with  a  cigar,  in  conver- 
sation with  Burnside  and  Curtis  regarding  fish 
and  canvas,  laughing  and  joking,  idling  away 
the  hours,  as  though  time  were  nothing  to  him 
and  he  had  no  object  but  the  present  moment's 
pleasure. 

Not  until  a  half-hour  before  Doctor  Graham's 
morning  office  hours  ended  did  he  mount  a 
horse  from  his  host's  stables  and  gallop  away 
upon  his  errand.  But,  galloping  away,  he  lost 
his  air  of  indifference,  and  was  a  man  with  clear 
duty  before  him,  bound  to  win. 

He  knew  more  of  Lee  Price's  life  than  his 
other  guests  knew.  He  and  Price  were  college 
chums,  confidential  friends — firm  friends,  now 


Drama  of  a  Life.  71 

that  years  had  proved  them.  He  knew  of  the 
unpleasant  relations  existing  between  this  man's 
father  and  mother  during  their  lifetime  ;  of  his 
beautiful,  fierce,  leopard-like  sister,  with  her 
unreasoning  hatred  for  her  brother  and  her 
intense  passion  for  her  lover. 

His  friend  possessed  wealth  almost  unlimited  ; 
and  he,  Tom  Hastings,  a  Wall  street  broker  and 
free  comrade,  called  much  less  of  this  world's 
goods  his  own,  though  still  fairly  fixed  ;  still  he 
never  once  envied  this  friend.  There  was  too 
much  shadow  against  the  sunlight,  too  much  of 
life's  bitter  dregs  in  this  golden  cup,  to  admit  of 
other  than  intense  regard  and  intense  regret  for 
the  noble  life  so  darkened. 

He  was  recalling  this  as  he  rode  along  in  the 
crisp  air,  softening  as  the  approach  to  town 
dulled  the  touch  of  the  sea  in  the  breeze.  He 
was  young,  and  life  was  a  pretty  desirable  thing 
to  him,  and  believing  his  friend  in  danger  from 
some  subtle  disease,  caused  him  to  grow  rather 
gloomy  in  thought,  although  he  was  too  thor- 
ough a  horseman  not  to  appreciate  and  enjoy 


72  Lida  Campbell,  or 

the  gallop  along  the  level  road  on  that  exquis- 
ite morning,  with  a  perfect  horse  beneath  him 
and  a  perfect  sky  above. 

"A  man  can't  do  more  than  his  best,"  he  solilo- 
quized, as  he  vaulted  from  the  saddle  at  the 
physician's  gate.  "  And  I'll  do  my  best  for  you, 
old  fellow." 

He  was  fortunate  in  finding  the  physician 
ready  to  give  him  immediate  attention,  and 
entered  into  the  subject  without  delay. 

"  You  know  Lee  Price  pretty  well,  Graham  ?" 

"  Pretty  well — yes,"  was  the  smiling  response, 
"  if  a  steady  friendship  for  ten  years  is  knowl- 
edge, Tom.  Fine  fellow,  too.  Worth  a  dozen 
ordinary  men,  let  me  tell  you." 

Hastings  nodded. 

"  I  know  it,  Graham.  That's  why  I  come  to 
you  to-day." 

"  I  thought  there  could  be  nothing  physically 
the  matter  with  you"  continued  the  doctor, 
laughing,  as  his  companion  paused,  the  young 
man's  fine  physique  admitting  of  this  remark. 

"  No,"    acquiesced      Hastings,    mechanically. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  73 

"I  came  about  Price,  Graham.  I  think  he  has 
called  upon  you  in  relation  to  my  own  errand. 
He  has  told  you  that  he  is  troubled  by  some 
peculiar  malady,  has  he  not  ?" 

"  Yes." 

A  keen  flash  appeared  in  the  physician's  eyes. 
He  was  alert  and  attentive. 

"  You  have  been  unable  to  diagnose  it, 
Graham  ?" 

"  There  are  peculiar  symptoms,"  was  the  cau- 
tious reply.  "  Has  he  confided  in  you  regarding 
it,  Hastings  ?" 

"  He  was  forced  to  do  so.  At  attack  seized 
him  while  we  were  driving  yesterday.  Price 
isn't  one  to  push  his  troubles  on  his  friends." 

"  No." 

"  Graham  !"  Tom  Hastings  leaned  forward 
as  he  sat  beside  his  friend's  desk  and  laid  one 
hand  impressively  upon  his  arm.  "  Price  has 
told  you,  I  presume,  how  these  attacks  come 
upon  him  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  tell  you  more  than 


74  Lida  Campbell,  or 

that,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  the  eyes  of  each 
meeting  and  a  deep  gravity  touching  both  faces. 
"  The  attack  was  instantaneous.  He  was, 
apparently,  in  perfect  health  up  to  that  moment ; 
then  he  wa"s  like  a  man  stricken  with  death." 

Silence  for  a  space  ;  their  eyes,  meeting,  were 
very  searching  and  expressive. 

"  Yes.     In  just  what  way,  Hastings  ?" 

"  He  lost  muscular  power  ;  the  reins  fell  from 
his  hands ;  he  was  like  one  paralyzed.  The 
horses  would  have  cut  and  run  had  he  been 
alone.  His  face  was  deadly  pale,  but  with  a 
peculiar  yellowish  tinge  upon  it.  You  under- 
stand ?" 

"  Yes." 

The  eyes  of  each  narrowed  somewhat  in  con- 
tracted thought,  and  were  very  keen. 

"  His  lips  were  purple ;  his  eyes  were  glassy, 
though  the  pupils  were  intensely  large  and  dark ; 
sweat  started  upon  his  forehead.  He  attempted 
to  speak,  but  could  not.  So  far  as  1  could  judge, 
his  tongue  also  was  paralyzed.  Had  I  not 
caught  him  he  would  have  fallen." 


Drama  of  Life.  75 

The  physician  nodded  two  or  three  times 
slowly  and  distinctly. 

"  I  see.  You  may  help  me  to  a  solution  of 
this  mystery,  Tom.  And  then  ?" 

"  The  attack  lasted  no  longer  than  three 
minutes  at  most.  In  ten  minutes  he  was  appar- 
ently thoroughly  recovered." 

"  Why  do  you  limit  it  to  mere  appearance, 
Tom  ?" 

"  Because,"  still  leaning  forward,  their  eyes 
meeting, "no  one  could  completely  recover  from 
such  an  attack  in  weeks,  Graham  !  I  know 
enough  for  that." 

"Yes.     Well?" 

"  You  evidently  expect  further  particulars," 
said  Tom  Hastings,  involuntarily  smiling. 

"  I  do." 

"  You  shall  have  them.  You  knew  all  this 
before  ?" 

"  No.  Of  course,  the  subject  of  these  attacks 
could  not  describe  his  own  appearance ;  he 
could  merely  give  his  sensations.  I  surmised  it, 


j6  Lida  Campbell,  or 

however,  and  I  know  that  you  came  to  say  more 
than  this." 

"  I  did ;  you're  a  keen  one,  Graham  !  How 
should  you  know  a  man's  appearance  by  his 
sensations?" 

"  That  is  science,"  was  the  amused  reply. 
"  But  what  more  have  you  to  tell,  Hastings  ? 
My  time  isn't  my  own,  and  I  have  a  patient  to 
see  in  ten  minutes,  otherwise  I  should  gladly 
devote  a  fair  share  of  my  life  to  you.  In  ten 
minutes  he  had  recovered,  you  say  ?" 

"  Apparently,  yes.  It  was  good  fortune  that  I 
was  with  him.  Usually,  he  told  me,  he  is  ill  in 
the  night  when  there  is  no  one  but  his  valet  to 
assist  him." 

"  Of  course,  his  valet  would  not  betray  him." 

"  Of  course  not.  He  has  tried  many  restora- 
tives, and  only  one  is  at  all  effective.  He  even 
says  that  this  may  not  be  called  that,  as  he  has 
not  tested  it  until  the  usual  length  of  the 
attacks  was  past.  This  restorative  is  coffee. 
Its  effect  upon  him  yesterday  was  remarkable. 
He  did  not  realize  it  himself.  1  was  watching 


Drama  of  Life.  77 

him  closely,  because  an  idea  was  borne  in  upon 
me,  and  I  wished  to  prove  it.  When  he  came 
from  the  hotel  after  swallowing  as  black  a  cup 
of  coffee  as  they  could  concoct,  the  pallor  was 
gone  and  the  dizziness  with  it.  The  only  pecu- 
liarity about  his  appearance  was  his  eyes.  The 
pupils  were  still  startlingly  large." 

"  Yes." 

"  In  my  own  mind,  even  without  this  proof, 
I  should  still  believe  the  coffee  an  efficient  factor 
against  this  malady  of  his." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  From  his  symptoms  I  draw  my  own  conclu- 
sions, Jack  Graham  !" 

"  And  they  ?" 

"  Are  the  same  as  your  own." 

"  And  they  ?" 

The  pause  of  an  instant ;  a  flashing  glance 
between  them  as  both  arose,  sternness  upon  each 
face. 

For,  in  reply,  Tom  Hastings  uttered  but  one 
word — but  that  word  to  each  was  the  true 
solution. 


CHAPTER     VI. 

A  THOUGHTFUL  ATTENDANT. 

We  are  ever  behind  or  beyond  or  beside 
Our  intrinsic  existence.     Forever  at  hide 
And  seek  with  our  souls. 

MEREDITH. 

14  Hello,  you  fellows  !  Here's  a  windfall !" 
"  Graham  himself,  by  Jove !  What  wind 
blew  you  here,  pray?"  demanded  Ned  Newton, 
bringing-  his  feet  down  from  the  piazza  railing 
and  his  chair  down  upon  its  four  legs  with  a 
bang,  as  he  removed  his  cigar  from  between  his 
teeth  and  waved  aside  a  cloud  of  smoke.  "  Not 
an  ill  wind,  surely,  for  we're  all  in  pretty  good 
health — particularly  little  Phil  here,  who  has 
been  simply  rolling  in  paint  and  canvas  !" 
"  And  Ned  Newton,  who  has  been  discovering 


Drama  of  Life.  79 

the  law  of  gravitation  by  waiting  for  the  apple 
of  fortune  to  fall  into  his  hand  !"  retorted  the 
artist,  who  was  sitting  astride  of  the  piazza  rail- 
ing, too  indolent  even  to  smoke. 

Doctor  Graham,  still  sitting  in  the  saddle, 
threw  one  leg  across  the  bow  and  clasped  his 
hands  around  his  knee,  laughing.  His  horse 
began  nibbling  the  close-cropped  grass  of  the 
border,  the  bridle  falling  loosely  upon  his 
neck. 

"Ill  wind  or  good,  it  is  certainly  some  sort  of 
cyclone,  this  voluntary  visit  of  yours,  my  dear 
Jack!"  exclaimed  Lee  Price,  pausing  for  a 
moment  in  the  doorway,  summoned  by  the 
sound  of  his  friend's  halloo.  "  The  very  sight 
of  you  would  cure  a  fellow  !  By  George,  Phil, 
bring  out  your  camera  and  take  his  photograph 
just  as  he  sits!  No  one  would  ever  recognize 
this  indolent  fellow  !" 

"  Yes  !"  Newton  added.  "  Get  along  with 
you,  Phil,  and  do  the  deed  before  a  telephone 
rings  him  up  to  practice  !  And  bring  along  the 


8o  Lida   Campbell,  or 

rest  of  the  fellows.  They'll  come  if  they  hear 
that  Graham  is  here  of  his  own  will !" 

Graham  laughed.  It  was  a  new  sensation  to 
him  to  be  idle,  but  rather  a  pleasant  sensation, 
after  all. 

"  Why  not  set  up  a  tent  and  start  a  show, 
charging  so  much  a  head  ?"  he  suggested,  jocu- 
larly. 

"  That's  not  a  bad  idea,"  said  Burnside,  strid- 
ing across  the  piazza  and  reaching  out  from  the 
top  step  to  shake  hands  with  the  new-comer. 
"  Jack  Graham,  the  learned  physician !  The 
remarkable  effect  of  indolence  upon  a  man 
accustomed  to  an  active  life  !  '  Greatest  Living 
Wonder  of  the  Age  !'  That  would  be  devilish 
taking,  Graham  !" 

"  And  little  Phil  here  would  be  another 
'taking'  subject!"  supplemented  Dan  Mayhew, 
from  the  hall,  with  striking  effect,  as  the  artist 
preceded  him  upon  the  piazza  with  his  apparatus 
for  taking  their  visitor's  photograph. 

"Hear!  Hear!"  exclaimed  a  laughing  voice, 
as  Tom  Hastings  followed  Curtis  and  Mayhew. 


Drama  of  Life.  81 

"  Hello,  Graham  !  What's  the  row?  Something 
extraordinary  to  see  you  here  !" 

"  That  is  evidently  the  opinion  of  my  horse, 
Tom,"  said  the  doctor,  laughing,  as  he  shook 
hands  with  the  young  men  pressing  around  him. 

"  He'll  have  your  border  shaved  clean  if  you 
keep  him  here  much  longer,  Price  !" 

44  He'll  have  better  living  than  that,  if  you'll 
give  us  a  chance  to  send  him  to  the  stables," 
said  Price,  laughing.  "  Come  in,  old  fellow  !" 

44  We'll  feed  him  on  milk  and  honey,"  inter- 
polated Curtis,  with  a  graphic  gesture.  "  Or 
the  skin  and  bones  of  black-fish — which  is  the 
same  thing  in  Burnside's  estimation  !" 

44  And  we'll  have  little  Phil  paint  a  canvas- 
back  for  him,"  retorted  Burnside,  scornfully, 
swinging  himself  airily  up  on  the  piazza-railing 
and  balancing  himself  there  by  twisting  his  long 
legs  around  the  carved  rods. 

"Oh,  come  now,  will  you  quit  your  everlast- 
ing haggling  of  each  other  ?"  protested  Morgan, 
appearing  around  the  north  end  of  the  piazza 
with  two  or  three  dogs  about  him.  "  It's 


82  Lida   Campbell,  or 

nothing  but  a  continual  cutting  of  diamonds 
between  you  two !  Give  them  an  emetic,  Doc, 
and  settle  them  forever  !" 

"  You'll  need  an  emetic  yourself,"  replied 
Burnside,  calmly,  "  if  you  haul  in  any  more 
toad-fish  off  the  Old  Horse  Rock,  Mr.  Morgan. 
It  may  be  great  fun  to  feel  them  pull  at  the  line, 
but  they're  not  specially  appetizing  game." 

"  If  you  fellows  will  keep  Graham  in  a  roar,  I 
shall  give  up  attempting  to  get  a  decent  picture 
of  him  !"  cried  the  artist,  in  desperation.  "  I've 
spoiled  two  plates  already,  and  I'll  send  in  the 
bill  to  you  if  I  spoil  a  third,  unless  you  quit!" 

"  We'll  render  it  to  the  finance  committee  of 
the  Greatest  Living  Wonder,"  replied  Morgan, 
airily.  "  Unless  you  make  haste  with  your 
picture-taking,  Phil,  you'll  have  to  fetch  a  plate 
to  carry  the  remains  of  the  doctor  into  the 
house,  for  he'll  fall  off  his  horse  from  sheer 

exhaustion." 

» 

"  If  some  of  you  don't  smother  him,  I  shall 
give  up!"  exclaimed  Curtis,  angrily  facing 
about. 


Drama  of  a  Life. 


"  What  —  the  ghost  ?"  queried  his  tormentor, 
with  great  gravity, 

But  before  the  irate  artist  could  reply,  Burn- 
side  reached  out  his  powerful  arms  and  caught 
the  delinquent  in  a  close  embrace  that  suffocated 
him  into  meekest  submission,  until  the  photog- 
rapher triumphantly  announced  that  he  had 
finished  with  his  subject,  who  was  at  liberty  to 
"  get  down  out  of  that  "  if  he  desired. 

Graham  swung  himself  easily  from  the  saddle 

and    mounted    the    steps,    while    Price   drew   a 

• 

silver  whistle    from  his  pocket  and  summoned 
Jim,  the  stable-boy,  to  lead  away  the  horse. 

"  No,  but,  really,  boys,  all  joking  aside,"  said 
the  young  doctor,  seating  himself  in  one  of  the 
piazza  lounging-chairs  and  sighing  with  extreme 
emphasis,  "  I've  taken  a  leave  of  absence  from 
duty  —  funked  —  decamped  —  what  you  will  —  for 
one  entire  week.  Hutchinson  has  taken  my 
place.  I  was  getting  desperate  from  continued 
driving,  so  I  skeedaddled.  If  I  hadn't,  I  should 
certainly  have  committed  suicide  within  three 
days." 


84  Lida   Campbell,  or 

"And  you  confided  in  us  first  off!  Good 
boy  !"  said  Newton,  tapping  him  patronizingly 
on  the  head  with  a  spray  of  honeysuckle  broken 
from  the  vine  beside  him,  as  he  arranged  him- 
self comfortably  upon  the  railing  beyond  the 
reach  of  Burnside's  long  arms. 

"  We'll  defend  you  with  our  lives,  and  hide 
you  in  the  water-butt  if  the  authorities  come 
searching  for  you,"  promptly  corroborated 
Mayhew,  leaning  indolently  against  one  of  the 
pillars,  tantalizingly  just  out  of  reach  of  Burn- 
side,  who  was  vainly  endeavoring  to  choke  nim 
into  silence. 

"  Well !"  said  Price,  emphatically,  from  his 
seat  on  the  arm  of  a  chair  beside  Graham.  "  It 
is  really  a  secondary  matter  how  or  for  what 
you  came,  so  long  as  you  are  here,  Jack.  Your 
horse  has  gone  to  the  stable,  and  unless  you 
wish  to  walk  back  to  town  you  will  be  obliged 
to  spend  the  week  with  us.  What  do  you  say  ? 
We  will  do  our  best  for  you,  and  make  you  for- 
get that  there  were  such  things  in  the  world  as 
disease  and  diagnosis." 


Drama  of  a  Life.  85 

"  Accept  gracefully,"  murmured  Newton, 
from  out  of  a  cloud  of  cigar  smoke.  "  You  may 
as  well,  Graham." 

"  For  when  the  Mogul  speaks  in  that  tone 
there  in  no  denying  him,"  added  Hastings, 
laughing,  although  a  swift  glance  passed 
between  him  and  the  guest.  "  He  means  busi- 
ness every  time  when  he  assumes  that  voice." 

"Oh,  but — "  began  the  doctor,  in  quick  pro- 
testation. 

"There  is  no  'but'  about  it,"  interrupted 
Morgan,  promptly,  while  Burnside  slid  from  the 
railing  and  clasped  his  firm  fingers  over  the 
physician's  mouth — "  excepting  the  water-butt, 
Jack.  Yield,  and  we'll  allow  you  the  honors 
of  war." 

"  Refuse — "  added  Burnside,  dramatically, 
with  a  heavy  dash  in  his  voice. 

"  But  I  hope  that  he  will  not  refuse,"  said 
Price,  with  a  smile. 

Graham  accepted. 

It  was  a  pretty  good  place  to  visit,  this 
andsome  island  residence  on  the  outskirts  of 


86  Lida   Campbell,  or 

the  town  ;  and  a  better  host  there  could  not  be 
than  Lee  Price ;  generous,  open-handed,  open- 
hearted.  Even  the  servants  of  his  household 
were  warm  in  praise  of  the  young  master — all 
but  Conyers,  the  young  master's  valet.  Conyers 
was  close-mouthed,  and  said  little  at  the  best  of 
times,  so  they  expected  no  encomium  from  him. 
They  certainly  received  none. 

Conyers  had  been  with  Lee  Price  for  three 
years,  and  was  faithful  to  his  duties,  quiet  and 
obliging.  It  was  as  well  that  he  should  be  a 
man  of  few  words,  his  master  said,  for  many  ser- 
vants and  attendants  were  given  to  too  much 
loquacity.  Volubility  did  not  always  indicate 
reliability.  So  long  as  Conyers  remained  faith- 
ful there  was  no  fear  of  his  losing  his  place. 

"  A  quiet  fellow — this  Conyers,"  said  Jack 
Graham,  indifferently,  as  he  and  his  host  strolled 
over  the  grounds,  a  group  of  dogs  around  them, 
the  morning  following  the  young  physician's 
entrance  into  the  lively  bachelor  establishment. 
"  Where  did  you  pick  him  up,  Price  ?  There's 
my  Halleck,  as  gossipy  as  a  monkey !  Utterly 


Drama  of  a  Life.  87 

unlike  Conyers.  You  must  have  advertised  for 
a  jewel  to  get  him." 

Lee  laughed.  One  of  the  dogs  leaped  about 
him,  and  he  patted  the  broad,  sleek  head  half- 
mechanically. 

"  I  advertised  for  a  faithful  man,"  he  answered ; 
"  perhaps  one  should  call  such  a  jewel  now-a- 
days,  Graham.  Conyers  suits  me  pretty  well. 
He  isn't  likely  to  cheer  a  fellow  with  volatile 
spirits — like  Morgan  or  Newton  or  those — but  if 
you  wish  to  be  quiet,  you  know,  you  will  be 
quiet,  no  matter  what  Conyers  may  be  doing." 

"  And  I  should  think,  if  one  were  ill  or  nervous 
or  wakeful  in  the  night,  he  would  be  an  excellent 
person,  Lee,"  added  the  doctor,  with  a  careless 
laugh.  "  I  think  I  shall  have  to  steal  or  bribe 
him  from  you  to  place  him  in  some  of  my  sick- 
rooms !" 

"  But  I  couldn't  spare  him,  you  know  !"  said 
Lee,  quickly.  He  glanced  at  his  companion 
half  suspiciously.  "  He  is  invaluable  to  me 
when  I  am  ill  in  the  night,  Jack.  You  remember 


88  Lida  Campbell,  or 

I  told  you  that  sometimes  1  am  ill  in  the 
night—'* 

"  Yes,"  said  Graham,  calmly,  as  Lee  paused, 
noting  the  color  mounting  the  broad  forehead. 
"  Of  course,  I  wouldn't  take  him  from  you  for 
the  world,  Lee.  And,  of  course,  he  wouldn't  go, 
no  matter  how  much  I  might  try  to  bribe  him. 
I  suppose  he  is  perfectly  willing  to  care  for  you 
at  such  times?" 

"  Perfectly,"  acquiesced  Price,  emphatically. 
"In  fact,  I  don't  even  have  to  ask  him,  Graham. 
He  seems  to  know  at  once  what  to  do." 

"  Remarkable  fellow  !"  said  the  doctor,  coolly, 
tossing  away  the  stump  of  his  cigar  and  snapping 
his  fingers  with  a  call  to  one  of  the  dogs. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lee,  warmly  ;  "  so  he  is,  Jack ! 
One  does  not  always  find  so  faithful  an 
attendant.  Nothing  gives  me  any  relief  when 
these  attacks  come  upon  me  but  clear,  cold 
water  or  the  strongest  coffee,  and  Conyers  will 
go  down  to  the  kitchen  for  it  at  any  hour  of  the 
night  without  a  murmur.  I  often  tell  him  to 
ring  for  one  of  the  other  servants,  but  he  will 


Drania  of  a  Life.  8c) 

not  do  it.  It  is  no  trouble  whatever,  he  says, 
when  I  object." 

"  It  is  a  wonder  he  didn't  die  young,"  he  said, 
with  a  careless  laugh  and  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 
"'Whom  the  gods  love,'  you  know,  Lee!" 

"  You  may  run  him,  if  you  choose,"  said  Lee, 
stoutly,  "  and  guy  me,  too,  for  that  matter,  but 
he  is  a  faithful  fellow,  Jack." 

"  Not  the  least  doubt  of  it,  my  dear  fellow," 
said  Jack,  with  quiet  indifference.  "  Nor  the 
least  doubt  that  the  figure  on  the  wall  yonder  is 
the  artist.  Hello,  Phil !  What  is  the  effect  this 
morning?  That  catboat  over  east  against  the 
green  island  would  make  a  charming  study  of 
color.  Is  that  what  you're  at  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Curtis,  glancing  up,  a  slight  flush 
on  his  face.  For  he  was  still  sensitive  regarding 
his  art.  "  It  makes  a  telling  canvas,  Graham. 
The  lights  are  so  vivid,  you  see." 

And  melting  into  conversation  upon  art,  the 
subject  of  the  faithful  attendant  died  away  and 
was  forgotten  by  one  of  the  two  disputants — not 
by  the  other. 


90  Lida  Campbell,  or 

The  week  passed  quickly  away,  bringing 
about  the  day  when  Doctor  Graham  must  return 
to  his  duties  and  his  patients. 

The  young  men  were  crowded  upon  the  piazza 
to  see  him  off,  for  he  was  a  general  favorite,  and, 
all  talking  at  once,  it  was  impossible  to  distin- 
guish any  special  speech  or  speaker. 

" '  All  the  world's  a  stage,'  and  all  the  men 
and  women  are  puppets  in  a  drama  of  farewell !" 
exclaimed  Newton,  suddenly  turning  upon  Mor- 
gan, who  was  using  a  gigantic  handkerchief  with 
elaborate  empressment,  and  slapping  him 
violently  upon  the  back.  "  But  cheer  up  ! 
He'll  appear  in  the  next  scene,  old  fellow  ;  so 
don't  howl  too 'loud — it  spoils  the  effect." 

"  ^.y-pecially  as  your  handkerchief  is  so  dis- 
gracefully dry,"  added  Burnside,  shaking  his 
own  out  to  its  full  size  with  extreme  care. 

The  unabashed  delinquent  wiped  his  eyes  and 
then  his  nose,  with  tender  solicitude.  Then,  his 
eyes  falling  upon  the  dripping  handkerchief  in 
Burnside's  hands,  he  made  a  sudden  and  most 


Drama  of  a  Life.  91 

unexpected  dash  at  him,  exclaiming,  in  excessive 
scorn : 

"  At  least  my  grief  is  real,  Bob  Burnside, 
while  yours  cries  of  the  waterbutt !" 

And,  in  the  midst  of  the  laughter  and  hubbub 
following  this  announcement,  Doctor  Graham, 
turning  upon  the  steps  as  he  was  descending  to 
where  his  horse  was  waiting  for  him,  laid  one 
hand  affectionately  upon  the  broad  shoulder  of 
his  host,  as  he  said,  earnestly : 

"  As  you  have  had  none  of  those  attacks  since 
I  have  been  here,  1  am  led  to  believe  that  you 
are  recovering  from  them  without  the  aid  of 
any  physician,  my  dear  fellow  !" 

An  awkward  flush  touched  for  an  instant  the 
young  man's  face.  Then  he  said,  slowly,  turning 
aside  from  the  doctor's  searching  eyes : 

"  I  was  ill — so — two  nights  ago,  Jack,  and 
Conyers  went  to  summon  you  ;  bui.  he  could  not 
rouse  you.  It  really  doesn't  matter,  though, 
for  Conyers  did  all  that  was  necessary,  and  it 
would  have  been  too  bad  to  waken  you  from  so 
sound  a  sleep." 


92  Lida   Campbell,  or 

"  The  devil  it  would  !"  exclaimed  the  angry 
doctor,  shortly,  as  his  hand  dropped  from  the 
other's  shoulder,  a  frown  darkening  his  brows. 
As  I  am  a  remarkably  light  sleeper,  Price,  it 
must  have  been  an  equally  light  summons  that 
couldn't  rouse  me.  " 

And  springing  to  the  saddle,  he  galloped 
away  without  another  word  or  one  backward 
glance  at  the  group  upon  the  cool  piazza. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A   BRILLIANT  AFFAIR. 

In  the  floating  of  the  fan  and  of  the  feather, 
To  reciprocate  with  beauty  the  fine  weather. 

THE  DANCE. 

Mrs.  Leonard  was  the  housekeeper  at  Bache- 
lors' Beatitude,  as  Morgan  in  a  fit  of  wit  nick- 
named the  beautiful  residence  of  Lee  Price. 
Mrs.  Leonard  as  a  housekeeper  was  irreproach- 
able ;  as  a  woman  she  was  very  stout, 
good-natured  and  wonderfully  kind  of  heart 


Drama  of  a  Life.  93 

She  considered  the  young  master  the  perfection 
of  manhood.  There  was  nothing  too  good  for 
him  ;  nothing  that  she  would  not  do  to  increase 
his  happiness. 

She  was  more  to  him — much  more — than  his 
own  mother  had  been,  and  she  had  ruled  over 
his  house  since  his  parents  died,  his  mother 
surviving  his  father  but  two  weeks.  He  paid 
her  a  salary  that  placed  beyond  possibility  her 
ever  coming  to  want;  and  in  return  she  made 
his  home  a  paradise  of  comfort,  his  friends  said, 
envying  him.  But  a  paradise  without  houris ; 
and  under  such  conditions,  even  paradise 
palls  sometimes. 

So  it  was  decided,  one  charming  summer 
morning  after  solemn  conclave,  that  the  houris 
should  be  invited.  And  this  decision  wakened  a 
stir  from  cellar  to  garret  at  Bachelors'  Beatitude, 
and  excited  much  pleasurable  expectation  on  the 
part  of  the  bachelors  themselves. 

"  It  must  be  a  really  brilliant  affair,  or  I  will 
not  undertake  it,"  said  Lee  Price,  when  the  pro- 
position was  being  considered.  "  In  consequence 


94  Lida  Campbell,  or 

of  this,  we  must  take  pains  to  make  it  a  success. 
In  the  first  place  I  have  one  of  the  sweetest 
aunts  in  the  world,  and  we  shall  have  her  her, 
of  course.  That  will  settle  the  proprieties,  for 
when  she  countenances  an  affair,  the  world 
accepts  it  as  proper.  She  will  do  the  hostess  to 
perfection,  only  I  warn  you  fellows  not  to  fall  in 
love  with  her.  That  is  my  one  stipulation." 

"Why  not?"  queried  Newton,  with  an  air  of 
settled  melancholy. 

"  Her  husband  might  object. 

"  Oh  !     She  has  a  husband  ?" 

"Yes.  And  now  that  Mrs.  Leonard  will  look 
after  the  household  affairs  and  my  aunt,  Mrs. 
Estabrook,  answers  for  the  proprieties — for  of 
course  she  will  not  refuse  my  request — we,  the 
bachelors,  may  safely  be  left  to  consider  the 
affair  somewhat  nearer  the  heart — naming  the 
guests." 

"  Fair  Eleanor,  of  course,"  murmured  Herbert 
Morgan,  with  a  side-glance  of  challenge  toward 
Burnside. 

"  Certainly,"  was  the   cool  reply..    "  \   should, 


Drama  of  a  Life.  95 

say  she  will  be  one  of  the  guests7  Mr.  Morgan  ! 
So  far  as  I  know,  there  is  no  reason  why  my 
little  fiancte  should  not  be  invited.  The  collec- 
tion of  houris  would  be  sadly  deficient  were  she 
omitted." 

"  That  is  well  said,  Rob,"  laughed  Price, 
suddenly  ceasing  his  nibbling  of  the  pencil  he 
held.  "  Miss  Harte's  name  goes  down  for  that 
the  first  in  the  list.  And  then  there's  Miss 
Atherton,  of  course,  and  Miss  D unbar  and  Kittie 
Florence — " 

And  so  on  until  the  list  was  full  and,  judging 
from  the  invited  guests,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  a  successful  ending  to  the  proposed  brilliant 
affair. 

Mrs.  Estabrook  was  the  perfection  of  a  hostess, 
and  Mrs.  Leonard  the  ideal  housekeeper.  The 
house  was  magnificent.  Flowers  and  palms 
were  banked  in  the  halls  and  on  the  staircase ;  a 
row  of  tall  palms  bordered  the  piazza  from  end 
to  end ;  hydrangias,  with  their  huge  bouquets  of 
blossoms,  were  arranged  upon  the  steps  ;  roses 
of  every  description,  with  fragrant  shrubs  and 


96  Lida  Campbell,  or 

hedge-blossoms,  made  the  lawn    like  a   tropical 
garden. 

The  house  was  brilliant  with  light ;  the  lawn 
soft  with  swinging  lanterns.  A  group  of 
musicians,  engaged  from  the  city,  were  hid 
den  by  palms  and  flowers  at  one  end  of  the 
piazza,  deadening  the  low  murmur  of  the  waves 
along  the  beach  close  under  the  wall,  as  the  tide 
rose.  A  brilliant  moon  was  riding  the  heavens, 
silvering  the  bay  and  trailing  a  path  of  molten 
glory  across  the  distant  Sound,  as  though  that 
were  the  gateway  to  celestial  lands  leading  from 
this  earthly  paradise. 

Carriages  began  arriving  early,  and  groups  of 
charming  women,  in  delightful  toilets,  set  the 
seal  of  perfection  upon  the  brilliant  scene.  It 
was  almost  altogether  a  town  affair;  not  more 
than  half  a  dozen  or  so  of  the  ladies  were  from 
the  city,  and  not  so  many  gentlemen  as  that. 

Young  Doctor  Graham  was  one  of  the 
favorites  among  the  group  of  young  men  from 
the  town.  Young  Doctor  Graham,  as  a  success- 
ful physician  and  wealthy  young  man,  was  con- 


Drama  of  a  Life.  97 

siderably  sought  after  tyy  wise  mothers  with 
charming  daughters.  And  young  Doctor  Gra- 
ham, being  wise,  divided  his  attentions  between 
many  young  ladies  and  was  deliciously  courte- 
ous to  the  old  ;  but  in  his  own  heart  he  knew 
that  there  was  only  one  face  and  voice  and  eyes 
— bewitchingly  bright — that  meant  more  than 
friendship  or  courtesy  to  him. 

But  if  pretty  little  Polly  Ballard  knew  this 
quite  as  well  as  he  did,  was  it  at  all  probable 
that  she  should  make  it  known  to  the  world  ? 
Then,  too,  she  treated  Tom  Hastings  with 
special  favor  that  evening,  and  Tom  Hastings 
was  utterly  devoted  to  her,  to  all  appearances  ; 
and  in  spite  of  gayety  and  music  and  beauty — 
in  spite  of  that  clear  track  of  glory  across  the 
waters  from  the  quiet  heavens — jealousies  and 
heavy  hearts  and  eyes  brilliant  with  more  than 
laughter  betrayed  that  the  serpent  had  also 
entered  here. 

"  So  you  managed  to  leave  your  patients  long 
enough  to  grace  this  festive  scene — eh,  Jack  ?" 


98  Lida   Campbell,  or 

Hastings  asked  of  Graham,  as  they  met  in  the 
hall  going  out  to  the  supper-room. 

Miss  Polly's  white-gloved  hand  was  lying  on 
Hastings'  arm,  and  Miss  Polly  herself,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  quite  ignored  Doctor 
Graham. 

•  "  Price  set  you  down  as  one  of  the  '  doubtfuls,' 
Graham,"  he  added  ;  "  but  I  see  that  you  have 
come." 

Price  himself  was  within  sight  and  hearing. 
Catching  this  remark,  he  smiled  upon  these 
guests.  Graham  acknowledged  this  remark 
easily.  He  was  apparently  unconcerned  as  to 
whether  or  not  Miss  Polly  Ballard  bestowed  her 
attention  upon  his  friend  or  himself ;  but  Miss 
Polly  knew  better. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  carelessly.  "  One  does 
occasionally  set  aside  business  for  pleasure. 
Unusual  with  me,  but  rather  pleasant — when 
Price  is  concerned."  And  passing  on  with  his 
companion,  he  and  Polly  drifted  apart  until  the 
gay  evening  was  ending.  Then — fate  brought 
them  together. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  99 

The  parlors  were  filled  with  dancers.  The 
music,  drifting  from  the  band  behind  the  palms, 
set  wings  to  light  feet  and  young  hearts  throb- 
bing and  bright  eyes  flashing  in  the  gas-light. 
What  though  the  world  were  wheeling  out  of 
orbit,  if  one  could  dance  one's  sorrow  down ! 

There  were  groups  on  the  piazza  and  the 
lawn.  Loiterers  by  the  sea  wall  watching  the 
waves  and  murmuring  soft  nothings  or  tender 
words  of  meaning.  Appreciative  eyes  gazed 
across  the  path  to  the  distances  of  heaven. 
Musical  laughter  twinkled  on  the  fragrant  si- 
lence. Deeper  voices  drowned  the  cry  of  the 
waves  to  the  ears  that  listened  and  the  hearts 
that  yielded  to  love. 

Jack  Graham,  for  the  first  time  that  evening, 
was  drawn  from  the  rooms  and  the  presence  of 
his  host.  With  undeviating  yet  quiet  persist- 
ence the  young  physician  kept  continual  watch 
of  the  handsome,  genial,  smiling  host,  moving 
among  his  guests  the  embodiment  of  courteous 
manhood. 
Jack  Graham  was  not  one  to  be  defeated 


ioo  Lida   Campbell,  or 

when  there  was  the  faintest  hope  of  success. 
But  Miss  Polly  had  relented  and  was  for  the 
time  causing  him  to  forget  or  neglect  his  duty. 
For  it  was  more  duty  than  pleasure  that  brought 
Doctor  Graham  to  this  scene  of  activity. 

But  Miss  Polly  was  irresistible  when  she  was 
so  charming  as  at  that  moment.  She  was  look- 
ing up  into  his  eyes,  murmuring  half  petulantly 
that  it  was  so  delicious  out  upon  the  lawn,  where 
one  need  not  suffocate  in  crowds  and  where  the 
moonlight  was  beautiful ;  and  Doctor  Graham, 
glancing  hastily  through  the  groups  for  his  host 
and  seeing  him  in  perfect  apparent  health  and 

spirits     among      the     dancers,  with     beautiful 

» 

wealthy  Miss  Constance  Conwright  as  his  part- 
ner, turned  away,  smiling,  with  bewitching  Miss 
Polly  to  join  the  more  romantic  groups  and 
promenaders  upon  the  piazza. 

The  breeze  was  faint.  Presently  Miss  Polly 
and  her  escort  were  crossing  the  lawn  toward 
the  sea  wall,  attracted  by  the  beauty  of  the 
scene  and  the  softened  sound  of  music  and  gay- 
ety  from  within.  Miss  Polly  held  her  gown 


Drama  of  a  Life.  101 

carefully  up  from  the  penetrating  dew  of  the 
close-shaven  grass,  and  Doctor  Graham  made 
sure  that  she  was  protected,  by  an  India  shawl, 
from  the  breeze,  after  the  heat  of  the  rooms. 
They  were  talking  very  earnestly  and  cared, 
neither  of  them,  if  the  eyes  of  the  world  were 
upon  them,  for  they  were  quite  happy  and  suffi- 
cient unto  themselves. 

When  they  reached  the  sea  wall,  Miss  Polly 
commanded  silence,  and  her  companion  will- 
ingly stood  with  her  before  the  exceeding 
beauty  of  the  scene.  The  moonlight  touched 
her  face  and  soft  black  hair  and  tender,  midnight 
eyes. 

Looking  across  the  water,  following  that 
silver  pathway,  she  forgot  herself  and  her  com- 
panion— forgot  utterly  her  surroundings.  Doc- 
tor Graham,  not  being  such  an  admirer  of 
scenic  beauty,  did  not  forget  her ;  he  seemed 
rather  to  be  perfectly  and  altogether  conscious 
and  anxious  for  the  welfare  of  Miss  Polly. 

"  Isn't  it  beautiful,  Doctor  Graham  ?"  queried 
Polly,  presently,  in  a  voice  of  awe. 


IO2  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jack,  smiling,  looking  down 
upon  her. 

"  But  you  are  not  looking  at  it  at  all !"  pro- 
tested Miss  Polly,  petulantly,  withdrawing  her 
hand  from  his  arm  and  laying  it  upon  the  crum- 
bling sea  wall.  "  You  don't  appreciate  beauty 
one  bit,  Doctor  Graham!" 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Doctor  Graham,  unmoved. 
"  I  was  looking  at  you,  Miss  Polly." 

"  But—"  began  Polly,  half  angrily. 

And  then  she  stopped,  for  fate  had  come 
between. 

A  shadow  glided  out  from  among  the  shadows 
on  the  lawn  and  paused  beside  them — a  tall 
figure  gloomily  black,  sombre,  startling. 

Polly  uttered  a  smothered  cry  and  shrank 
close  to  her  companion.  Doctor  Graham  drew 
her  hand  through  his  arm,  leaving  his  own  over 
it  reassuringly,  as  he  faced  the  strange  intruder 
upon  their  peace. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  a  low,  even  voice, 
and  Graham  recognized  in  the  moonlight  the 
cold,  thin  face  of  Conyers.  "  The  young  master 


Drama  of  a  Life.  103 

is  ill.  He  asked  for  you.  Come,  if  you  please, 
sir." 

"  How  unfortunate !"  muttered  the  doctor, 
hurrying  with  Miss  Polly  across  the  lawn,  the 
valet  disappearing  as  silently  and  suddenly  as  he 
had  come.  "  I  watch  for  hours,  and  just  as  I 
congratulate  myself  on  groundless  fears  and 
relax  vigilance,  fortune  turns  upon  me  and  the 
evil  falls !  I  would  have  given  anything,  any- 
thing to  have  been  with  him  at  the  time!  I 
must  go  to  him,  Polly,  at  once." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Polly,  with  sweet  gravity. 
"  Poor  Mr.  Price !  Go  right  away,  Doctor 
Graham  ;  don't  stop  for  me  !  I  will  find  mamma 
easily,  or —  Here  is  Mr.  Waring  !  He  will 
see  that  I  am  safe." 

"  Certainly,"  said  one  of  the  gentlemen  who 
stood  near  the  door  of  the  hall.  "  With  pleas- 
ure, Miss  Ballard.  Poor  Price  !  They  say  that 
he  is  horribly  ill,  Graham.  Hastings  put  us  all 
out  of  the  room  as  soon  as  he  was  attacked," 
continued  Mr.  Waring  to  Miss  Polly,  as  they 
lingered  upon  the  piazza,  anxiously  watching  for 


IO4  Lida  Campbell,  or 

news  of  their  host,  yet  not  wishing  to  intrude 
upon  him.  "I  never  saw  Hastings  so  cut  up  in 
my  life.  He  was  near  Price  at  the  time.  They 
were  eating  cream  with  Miss  Dunbar  and  Kittie 
Florence,  and  all  at  once  Price  became  deadly 
ill — like  death — and  would  actually  have  fallen 
to  the  floor  if  Hastings  had  not  caught  him. 
They  have  him  up  in  his  room  now.  I  wish 
Graham  would  hurry  and  tell  us  regarding  him. 
Poor  fellow  !" 

And  it  was  "  poor  fellow  "  indeed,  for  Graham 
found  him  much  more  ill  than  he  had  expected 
— and  he  had  expected  to  find  him  very  ill. 
Conyers  was  in  the  room  when  he  entered,  as 
though  he  had  never  left  it,  as  though  his  flight 
into  the  night  were  but  a  thought  of  the  brain 
and  not  reality.  Conyers,  self-possessed,  cool, 
unmoved,  standing  beside  his  master,  whom  he 
had  assisted  to  the  bed  and  was  carefully  and 
deftly  divesting  of  his  evening  dress. 

It  was  all  he  could  do  and  exactly  what  he 
should  do ;  but  Graham,  whose  glance  fell  upon 
him  instantly  on  entering,  felt  a  swift  sense  of 


Drama  of  a  Life.  105 

distrust  for  him  and  spoke  rather  sharply  to  him 
in  giving  his  command. 

But  the  immovable  face  did  not  once  change 
in  expression  nor  his  noiseless  obedience  falter. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

EMMA. 

Faces  !    O  my  God, 
We  call  those  faces? — men's  and  women's. 

AURORA  LEIGH. 

Lee  Price  lay  upon  the  bed  under  the  hands 
of  his  valet,  deadly  pale ;  not  uttering  a  groan, 
yet  in  silent,  convulsed  agony  ;  one  hand  thrown 
out  grasping  the  pillow,  as  though  to  stifle 
sound.  His  eyes  were  closed,  but  they  opened 
in  recognition  as  Graham  bent  over  him,  a 
muttered  imprecation  on  his  lips  for  having  been 
tempted  from  his  friend. 

"  Bring  me  a  glass  of  water,  Conyers,  at  once," 
he  said.  "  I  will  get  him  in  bed  while  you  go 
for  it.  Go  immediately." 


106  Lida  Campbell,   or 

The  latter  order  was  superfluous,  as  Conyers 
had  disappeared  ere  it  was  uttered,  and  returned 
so  quickly  that  even  at  that  time  Graham 
wondered  at  his  expedition. 

In  a  few  moments,  between  them,  they  had  the 
young  man  in  bed,  some  powerful  drug  admin- 
istered, and  he  was  in  a  heavy  sleep,  not  likely 
to  be  broken  for  many  hours.  Then  Graham 
sent  Conyers  to  summon  Hastings  and  Mrs. 
Leonard.  Both  responded  at  once,  and  to  each 
he  made  such  explanations  as  he  considered 
advisable. 

To  the  housekeeper  he  gave  instructions  to 
have  the  house  cleared  of  its  guests  and  quiet 
enforced,  adding  a  command  that  he  desired  the 
cream  of  which  Price  was  eating  at  the  time  of- 
attack  to  be  quietly  placed  where  it  would  be 
safe  until  he  ordered  it  brought  to  him. 

"  Much  cream  is  mixed  with  dangerous 
matter,"  he  said,  gravely  and  impressively.  "  It 
may  possibly  be  that  which  caused  hisTllness.  I 
wish  to  investigate  it,  Mrs.  Leonard  ;  and  if  you 
will  see  that  Mrs.  Estabrook  receives  this  note, 


Drama  of  a  Life.  107 

she  will  arrange  the  social  part  of  the  dismissal 
with  ready  tact." 

He  hastily  wrote  a  few  words  upon  a  page  of 
his  note-book  and  handed  it  to  the  housekeeper. 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  see  to  that,"  she  said,  as 
she  took  the  paper;  "  but  you  surely  don't  think, 
you  cannot  think,  doctor,  that  our  poor  dear 
young  master  has  been  poisoned  !  It  couldn't  be 
the  cream,  because  not  one  mouthful  of  it  was 
bought.  It  was  made  right  here  in  the  house — 
Emma  attended  to  that — and  then  no  one  else 
was  ill — " 

"  I  know  that,"  interrupted  Graham,  quietly, 
"  and  I  desire  nothing  said  about  it  in  the  house, 
Mrs.  Leonard.  Reserve  me  this  plate  of  cream, 
and  see  that  no  one  is  alarmed.  I  think  the 
young  master  will  be  all  right  to-morrow.  I 
shall  remain  here  to-night." 

His  eyes  were  upon  Conyers  as  he  uttered 
these  words,  and  very  sharp  eyes  they  were  ;  but 
the  man's  pale,  thin  face  did  not  betray  that  he 
knew  of  this,  or  even  that  he  heard. 


io8  Lida  Campbell,  or 

When  Mrs.  Leonard  was  gone,  he  turned  to 
the  valet  with  a  swift  movement  of  dismissal. 

44  You  may  leave  us  now,  Conyers,"  he  said. 
44 1  shall  remain.  If  I  need  you  I  shall  ring  ; 
and  if  I  do  ring — "  the  man  paused  in  the  door- 
way, unmoved,  but  obedient  to  the  commanding 
voice — "  if  I  do  ring,  Conyers,  come  to  me  with- 
out delay." 

44 1  will,  sir,"  was  the  even  reply,  as  the  door 
closed  noiselessly  upon  the  speaker,  and  the 
two  friends  were  alone  at  one  end  of  the  room, 
within  sight  and  sound  of  the  man  who  lay  in 
unconscious  sleep  upon  the  bed. 

44  Well  ?"  said  Hastings,  gravely. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Graham,  with  equal  gravity. 

Their  eyes  met,  some  strange  comprehension 
flashed  into  each.  Whatever  of  unpleasantness 
had  come  between  them,  owing  to  Miss  Polly's 
fickleness,  was  now  entirely  superseded  by 
anxiety  for  their  friend.  Graham  wheeled  a 
chair  noiselessly  nearer  the  window,  where  the 
cool  night  air  stole  in  soft  and  refreshing  after 


Drama  of  a  Life.  109 

the   night's  heated  rooms.      Hastings  followed 
his  example. 

"  Now,  then  ?"  said  the  latter,  shortly,  but  in 
a  satisfied  tone,  as  though  he  expected  every 
mystery  or  difficulty  to  be  at  once  explained 
away. 

"  I  think  that  you  were  right,  Tom,  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,"  was  the  cool  reply,  after  a  moment 
of  silence.  They  could  hear  the  indistinct 
murmur  of  voices  in  the  lower  rooms  and  upon 
the  piazza,  and  the  deadened  roll  of  wheels  as 
the  guests  departed.  "  I  judge  only  from 
appearances  now — very  soon  I  shall  judge  from 
certainty." 

"How?" 

"  tf  you  have  patience  you  shall  discover," 
replied  the  doctor,  calmly.  "  I  should  like  you 
to  remain  here  with  me  to-night — or  to-day 
rather,  as  it  is  nearly  dawn — if  you  can,  Tom. 
The  world  is  a  topsy-turvy  place.  We  shall 
straighten  it  in  spite  of  Shakespeare's  disgust  of 
the  man  who  would  set  right  a  disjointed  world  ! 
There  is  power  in  science,  my  dear  fellow.  I 


no  Lida  Campbell,  or 

grow  more  respectful  toward  it  every  day,  as  I 
learn  more  of  its  use — and  misuse." 

There  was  more  than  surface  meaning  in  the 
words,  but  each  apparently  comprehended. 

"  Why  won't  you  tell  me  of  this  now,  Jack?" 
asked  Hastings,  in  some  disappointment.  "  I 
have  guessed  considerable,  but  I  would  not 
object  to  knowing  more." 

" '  Knowledge  comes/ "  said  the  doctor, 
coolly,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  clasping  his 
hands  behind  his  head,  his  eyes  half  quizzical 
yet  grave,  meeting  those  of,  his  companion — 
"  '  but  wisdom  lingers,'  Tom.  That  wouldn't  be 
a  half-bad  motto  for  one  to  accept.  When 
Price  wakens  I  shall  question  him  more  than  I 
have  ever  felt  at  liberty  to  do  before.  If  you 
are  present  you  may  be  somewhat  enlightened 
as  to  the  nature  of  drugs  and  chemicals  and  their 
effects.  It  is  best  not  to  let  the  other  fellows 
know,  however." 

"  So  long  as  we  can  help  it — yes,"  said  Hast- 
ings, in  some  dissatisfaction  at  this  meager 
explanation  granted  him. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  i  \  i 

"  Why  do  you  make  that  reservation,  Tom  ?" 

Tom  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Their  conver- 
sation was  carried  on  in  low  tones  and  they  sat 
in  close  companionship,  but  now  he  leaned  a 
trifle  nearer  the  physician  and  his  voice  was  still 
lower  as  he  said,  distinctly  : 

"  Because  one  cannot  see  into  the  future, 
Jack ;  because  the  poor  fellow  yonder  grows 
worse  at  each  attack,  and  because  if  there  is  one 
person  whom  I  cordially  dislike  and  whom  Price 
trusts  it  is  that  confounded  Conyers  !  There  is 
something  too  sly  about  him  to  please  me.  I 
could  not  endure  him  long  in  my  presence." 

The  physician  raised  his  brows,  and  a  half 
smile  crossed  his  lips. 

"  I  sent  him  away,"  he  said,  "  because  /  prefer 
his  room  to  his  company  myself,  Tom." 

Silence  after  that  upon  the  house  and  over  the 
lawn  but  one  short  hour  before  alive  with  bril- 
liant life  and  light.  The  guests  had  departed 
save  those  belonging  to  the  household,  and  the 
lights  were  out,  and  only  the  far-away  low  mur- 


H2  Lida   Campbell,  or 

mur  of  the  waves  along  the  beach  where  the  tide 
was  falling. 

Through  the  open  windows  the  breeze  stole, 
heavy  with  fragrance  from  the  lawn  and  the 
garden.  The  pathway  of  silver  light  upon  the 
water  had  shifted  as  the  moon  went  slowly  slid- 
ing down  beyond  the  western  hills. 

There  was  no  sound,  save  these  delicate  night 
sounds  and  the  quiet  breathing  of  the  sleeper — 
save  the  low-toned  voices  of  the  physician  and 
his  friend  keeping  watch,  as  the  dawn  stole  up 
the  east,  treading  down  lightly  and  mysteriously 
the  tender  rose  of  dying  moonlight,  and  broad- 
ened and  deepened  to  amber  and  lilac  and  royal 
purples  of  sunrise  and  day,  and  wakened  life 
below. 

But  it  was  long  after  sunrise  when  Lee  Price 
opened  his  eyes  upon  the  day.  Just  at  first  he 
did  not  recognize  Doctor  Graham,  who  was 
sitting  by  the  east  window,  quietly  reading,  and 
could  not  recall  what  had  occurred.  Then  the 
memory  partly  returned,  and  raising  himself 


Drama  of  a  Life.  113 

unsteadily  upon  one  elbow  and  staring  hard  at 
his  friend,  he  addressed  him. 

Hastings  had  gone  down  stairs  for  breakfast, 
and  they  were  alone. 

"  Graham !"  he  said.  His  voice  was  very 
weak,  and  his  hand  trembled  as  he  brushed  the 
hair  up  from  his  forehead  in  a  habit  peculiar  to 
him  when  anxious  or  perplexed. 

"Yes?"  replied  Graham,  immediately,  but 
with  entire  composure,  as  he  laid  aside  his  book, 
and,  rising,  crossed  to  the  bed.  "  What  is  it,  my 
dear  fellow?" 

"That  is  what  I  would  ask  you"  said  Price, 
weakly. 

"  You  may  ask  innumerable  questions  if  you 
will,  Lee." 

"  You  will  answer  them — if  you  choose,  I 
suppose  !"  was  the  petulant  retort.  "  I — was  ill 
last  night,  Jack  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  brought  me  up  here  ?" 

"  Hastings  had  you  brought  here — yes." 


ii4  Lida   Campbell,  or 

"  Where  are  the  guests  ?  What  did  they — 
think  ?  What  did  you  tell  them  ?" 

"  I  presume  they  are  lost  in  delightful  dreams 
of  the  evening  spent  here,  my  dear  boy,"  was 
the  physician's  cool  reply ;  "  but  as  to  what 
they  think,  I  cannot  undertake  to  say.  Your 
aunt  and  Hastings  sent  them  off  without  the 
least  scene.  That  aunt  of  yours  should  be  a 
politician,  Lee,  she  can  so  easily  manage 
people." 

"  Where  is  she,  Graham  ?" 

"  I  can't  say.  She  came  to  the  door  once,  to 
learn  of  your  condition  ;  but  I  told  her  that  you 
must  not  be  disturbed,  and  she  obeys  implicitly. 
You  must  do  the  same  if  you  wish  to  be  about 
soon." 

"  That's  like  her,"  said  Price. 

He  had  fallen  back  among  the  pillows,  and 
Graham  was  standing  beside  him,  holding  one 
hand,  with  his  fingers  lightly  pressed  upon  the 
restless  pulse  stirring  in  the  wrist.  Price  lay 
silently  watching  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Were  you  with  me— then— Jack  ?"  he  asked, 


Drama  of  a  Life.  1 1 5 

presently.  "  I  cannot  remember.  I  have  tried, 
but  my  head  feels  too  much  of  a  burden  as  it 
is." 

"  No,"  Graham  said,  quietly,  an  intentness 
upon  his  face  that  his  patient  did  not  even 
attempt  to  fathom.  "  I  was  on  the  lawn.  Con- 
yers  called  me.  He  did  not  find  me  sleeping  too 
soundly  this  time." 

Price  did  not  speak,  but  his  glance  quickened 
as  though  with  resentment  at  this  subtle  hint  of 
his  valet's  infidelity.  Then  he  withdrew  his 
hand  from  the  doctor's  hold  and  turned  his  head 
restlessly  upon  the  pillow. 

"  Then  you  knew  nothing  about  this  attack- 
more  than  about  the  other,  Graham  ?" 

The  doctor's  eyes  were  narrowing  and  the 
intent  expression  deepened  upon  his  face. 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  he  said.  "  You  and  Miss 
Dunbar  and  Miss  Florence  with  Hastings  were 
eating  cream.  You  had  eaten  but  little  of  the 
cream  when  it  made  you  violently  ill — " 

"  How    do    you   know    it   was    the   cream  ?" 


n6  Lida  Campbell,  or 

demanded  Price,  shortly.  One  might  think  that 
he  did  not  like  this  insinuation. 

"  I  am  stating  the  case  as  it  appeared,"  was 
the  unruffled  reply.  "  I  shall  state  it  as  it  is 
truly,  presently.  Hastings  had  you  removed 
presently  and  sent  Conyers  for  me.  How  are 
you  feeling,  my  dear  fellow?" 

"  I  feel  as  though  there  were  forty  horses 
treading  down  upon  my  head,"  was  the  irritable 
answer.  "  Really,  Graham,  I  believe  if  this 
thing  continues  much  longer  you  will  have  a 
lunatic  upon  your  hands." 

Graham  nodded. 

"  I  shall  take  good  care  that  nothing  of  the 
sort  occurs,  Price,"  he  said.  "  And  now  I  shall 
ask  you  one  or  two  questions  that  you  may  con- 
sider impertinent — or  would  consider  so  if  you 
were  not  perfectly  certain  that  it  is  your  old 
friend  who  asks.  Have  you  any  new  servants 
in  your  household  ?" 

Price  stared  at  him  as  though  he  believed  that 
he  were  the  one  threatened  with  insanity  instead 
of  himself. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  117 

"  What  possible  interest  can  you  have  in 
that?"  he  asked,  shortly.  "  Every  one  of  my 
servants  is  capable  and  faithful,  if  that  is  what 
you  mean,  and  all  have  been  with  me  for  several 
years — excepting  Emma.  I  know  that  you  dis- 
like Conyers,  when  you  have  no  earthly  reason 
for  doing  so;  but  if  you  attempt  to  distrust 
Emma  you  will  be  carrying  your  suspicions 
pretty  far,  my  dear  Graham." 

"Now  that  you  have  relieved  your  feelings," 
said  the  doctor,  laughing,  and  undeterred  from 
his  path  of  investigation  "  will  you  kindly 
inform  me  what  were  your  sensations  last 
night?" 

Price  moved,  his  head  impatiently  as  though 
he  would  prefer  to  be  silent  upon  his  illness  and 
its  symptoms,  but  was  compelled  to  reply,  as 
the  physician  was  awaiting  his  answer,  and  he 
knew  that  Jack  Graham  was  not  to  be  moved 
from  his  path  of  duty. 

"I  felt  decidedly  ill,"  he  said,  flatly  and 
sharply.  "  Isn't  that  enough  for  you  to  know, 
Graham  ?  No  ?  You  are  such  a  stony-hearted 


n8  Lida   Campbell,  or 

fellow  when  your  mind  is  set  upon  a  thing ! 
Well,  then,  I  felt  as  though  a  beautiful  Borgia 
were  thrusting  me  through  and  through  with  a 
poisoned  dagger  to  rid  herself  of  me.  I  felt  as 
though  Medusa  were  paralyzing  me  with  her 
gaze  of  stone.  As  though  the  Colossus  of 
Rhodes  were  falling  upon  my  head.  I  felt,  to 
sum  it  all  up  in  one  fine  point,  as  though  every 
earthly  joy  had  faded  and  I  didn't  specially 
care." 

There  was  fine  sarcasm  in  his  voice  and  upon 
his  face,  but  Doctor  Graham  was  not  moved  by 
it.  He  merely  nodded  quietly  and  his  eyes 
searched  the  pale  face  with  concentrated  thought. 

"  And  after  all  this  fine  drama  so  cleverly  put, 
you  were  brought  up  here  and  have  only  just 
wakened  to  the'  fact  that  the  world  still  holds 
considerable  to  be  lived  for,  Lee.  That  will  do 
for  this  time.  We  will  hear  what  Mrs.  Leonard 
has  to  say  regarding  the  cream  you  so  faithfully 
defend." 

Disregarding  Price's  protestations,  the  young 
doctor  crossed  to  the  bell  and  summoned  the 


Drama  of  a  Life.  119 

housekeeper.  She  replied  immediately,  but 
there  was  an  unusual  uneasiness  in  her  manner, 
that  this  man  with  the  keen  eye  detected  at  once. 

"  How  is^the  young  master,  Doctor  Graham  ?" 

"  He  is  better,  Mrs.  Leonard.  1  should  like 
you  to  send  me  the  cream  I  ordered,  immedi- 
ately. Send  it  to  the  adjoining  room,  please.  I 
have  use  for  it." 

He  had  not  a  doubt  that  his  instructions  of 
the  previous  night  had  been  obeyed.  He  was 
accustomed  to  having  his  orders  obeyed  unques- 
tioningly. 

Hastings  was  ascending  the  stairs. 

A  faint  flush  of  annoyance  crept  to  the  house- 
keeper's face.  Unconsciously  and  nervously  she 
lifted  the  embroidered  bag  that  hung  at  her  side 
containing  the  household  keys,  and  smoothed  its 
ribbons  as  though  so  she  would  smooth  out  his 
displeasure. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Doctor,"  she  said,  hesitatingly, 
"  but  Emma  forgot  and  threw  that  in  with  the 
rest  of  the  waste.  She  did  not  mean  to  be  care- 
less, she  is  usually  a  very  good  girl — " 


I2O  Lida  Campbell,  or 

A  thunder-storm  of  anger  was  brewing  on  the 
doctor's  brows.  His  eyes  darkened  and  blazed. 

"  And  you  defend  her,"  he  said,  "  even  though 
you  know  that  your  master's  life  may  depend 
upon  faithfulness  to  my  orders !"  His  voice  was 
even,  but  deeper  than  usual  with  suppressed 
indignation. 

"  She  meant  no  harm,  truly,  Doctor.  She  is 
young,  and  usually  very  careful — " 

"  Who  is  this  Emma  who  is  such  a  paragon  ?" 

"  One  of  the  housemaids,  Doctor  Graham." 

"  Send  her  to  me,  Mrs.  Leonard — and  Conyers 
also." 

He  turned  away,  re-entering  the  room  fol- 
lowed by  Hastings,  and  closed  the  door. 

"  I  sent  for  you,  Conyers,"  he   said,  sternly, 

when  the  valet  entered   a   few   moments  later 

» 

accompanied  by  a  bright-faced  girl. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  saw  your  master  taken  ill  last  night — 
you  were  near  him  at  the  time  ?" 

"  I  was  in  the  servants'  hall,  sir.  I  could  see 
that  he  was  ill." 


Drama  of  a  Life.  121 

"  We  were  watching  the  party  from  the  hall, 
sir,"  ventured  Emma. 

"  Oh !"  said  the  young  doctor,  with  steelly  sar- 
casm in  his  voice,  his  keen  eyes  turned  from  the 
valet  to  the  girl.  "  And  you  saw  that  he  was  ill, 
too,  I  suppose,  Emma?  You  are  Emma,  I  take 
it?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  It  was  while  he  was  eating  cream  with 
friends  ?" 

The  eyes  were  like  sword  points,  bent  upon 
the  valet  rather  than  the  girl,  as  though  he 
would  pierce  down  to  his  soul  and  fathom  his 
thoughts.  But  the  man  stood  silent,  with  down- 
cast eyes  and  thin,  inscrutable  face. 

"And  you  disobeyed  my  orders  regarding 
this  cream  !  Who  told  you  to  do  it  f 

The  question  was  sudden  and  startling  because 
of  the  questioner's  voice,  and  the  girl  glanced 
up,  frightened,  first  at  him,  then  at  the  immov- 
able valet,  then  about  the  room,  her  gaze  falling 
again  to  the  floor,  as  her  hands  pulled  nervously 
at  her  apron. 


122  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  No  one  told  me,  sir.  I — I  did  not  think. 
I— I—" 

11  Did  you  not!"  was  the  scornful  interruption, 
silencing  her  startled  speech.  "  Very  well, 
Emma.  See  that  you  obey  my  instructions  in 
the  future.  You  may  go — both  of  you." 

But  as  they  turned  away  at  his  command  Jack 
Graham  caught  a  glance  that  passed  between 
them.  A  strange  glance  ;  it  puzzled  him.  Was 
it  scorn  or  reproach  or  warning  passing  from 
the  valet's  eyes  to  the  frightened  eyes  of  the 
girl? 

Then  the  door  closed  noiselessly  upon  them, 
and  he  turned  toward  the  bed. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HASTY   SUMMONS. 

Leave  the  judgment  to  Him  who  alone  knoweth  the  law. 
Surely  no  man  can  be  his  own  judge  :  least  of  all 
His  own  doomsman. 

MEREDITH. 

Doctor  Graham  resolutely  refused  young 
Price's  request  that  he  might  rise  and  dress, 
having  no  faith  in  his  professed  recovery. 

"  I  will  not  remain  in  bed  to  be  coddled  like  a 
baby  !"  Price  declared,  fumingly.  "  I  never  do 
when  I  have  these  attacks,  Graham." 

"  Which  is  due  to  your  having  no  one  to  care 
for  you,  my  dear  fellow,"  was  the  cool  retort. 
"  As  your  physician — setting  mere  friendship 
aside — I  command  you  to  stay  where  you  are 
for  twenty-four  hours  ;  and  as  I  intend  to  remain 

[123] 


124  Li&a  Campbell,  or 

with  you,  nolens  volens,   I   rather  think  that  you 
will  stay." 

"  You  are  so  absurdly  set  in  your  ways,"  said 
Price,  half  angrily,  half  laughing.  "  I  wouldn't 
care  to  live  with  you,  Graham — a  fellow  would 
have  no  will  at  all!" 

"  Which  would  be  all  the  better  for  his  physi- 
cian," replied  Graham,  calmly.  "  Nevertheless, 
it  is  my  opinion  that  you  would  recover  all  the 
sooner  for  my  presence,  Lee." 

Price  frowned  at  the  intimation  in  the  quiet 
voice  ;  but  Graham  was  so  cool,  so  unmoved,  so 
good-natured,  and  yet  determined,  that  he 
yielded  to  his  commands  after  the  first  words  of 
opposition. 

And  it  was  only  the  most  delicate  breakfast 
that  the  doctor  would  allow  his  patient,  even 
this  being  prepared  by  the  housekeeper  herself 
at  Graham's  desire.  For  the  doctor  did  not 
once  leave  the  room  unless  Hastings  took  his 
place,  and,  although  Price  was  irritated  at  this 
close  watch  upon  him,  he  knew  the  kindness 
that  prompted  it  and  although  it  might  be  mis- 


Drama  of  a  Life.  125 

taken  kindness,  Lee  Price  was  not  one  to  under- 
value it. 

Still,  as  is  sometimes  the  case,  man  proposes 
that  which  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  dispose,  and 
a  more  powerful  will  than  that  of  young  Doctor 
Graham  turned  the  wheel  of  fate  that  day. 

A  summons  came  for  Doctor  Graham  that 
afternoon  from  one  of  his  most  influential 
patients. 

Doctor  Harry  Hutchinson,  Jack  Graham's 
associate,  had  been  given  charge  of  the  latter's 
patients  until  he  could  leave  Price  ;  but  in  this 
instance,  the  patient  being  a  stubborn,  deter- 
mined, rather  hard  elderly  woman,  strong  in  her 
prejudices,  firm  in  her  friendships,  Doctor  Harry 
Hutchinson  discovered  that  he  would  not  do  at 
all  to  fill  his  friend's  place,  and  was  obliged  to 
send  a  message  to  Graham  to  that  effect,  adding 
that  Mrs.  Colter  Harrington  was  seriously  ill, 
and  as  he  could  not  attend  her  owing  to  her 
refusal  to  see  him,  he,  Graham,  must  go  to  her 
at  once  if  it  were  possible. 

It  was  possible.     Even  Doctor  Graham,  biting 


126  Lida  Campbell,  or 

his  under  lip  savagely  in  his  annoyance  at  this 
new  interruption  to  his  plans,  was  forced  to 
acknowledge  that  this  was  quite  possible. 

Price  had  recovered  with  remarkable  prompt- 
ness, although  still  confined  to  his  bed  by  Gra- 
ham's orders  ;  but  Hastings  was  in  the  house 
and  would  willingly  take  his  place  as  nurse,  if 
not  physician,  when  the  matter  was  explained  to 
him. 

As  for  Lee  Price,  he  laughed  when  informed 
of  the  summons  for  his  physician,  declaring  that 
fate  could  sometimes  look  over  a  mass  of  absurd- 
ities to  good  common  sense,  and  so  had  recalled 
to  active  duty  this  "  captain  in  reserve."  If  he 
were  obliged  by  stress  of  circumstances  to  be 
under  surveillance,  Tom  was  a  pretty  good  sort 
of  fellow  to  be  placed  in  charge,  and  he  would 
accept  gracefully,  if  Tom  could  say  the  same. 

Of  course  Tom  was  also  of  this  opinion,  and 
the  matter  was  settled  within  a  few  minutes,  the 
doctor's  horse  waiting  for  him  at  the  steps,  and 
Hastings  going  with  him  down  the  stairs  to  see 


Drama  of  a  Life.  127 

him  away,  and  receive  any  last  word  regarding 
the  patient's  condition. 

Newton  was  lounging  upon  the  piazza  with  a 
segar  and  a  newspaper.  He  inquired  of  Jim, 
the  stable  boy,  who  was  holding  the  doctor's 
horse  at  the  steps,  if  Doctor  Graham  were  leav- 
ing ;  to  which  the  well-trained  boy  replied  that 
he  did  not  know  ;  he  could  not  tell,  sir;  he  had 
only  been  told  to  fetch  the  horse. 

Newton,  with  his  steady  good  nature,  was  not 
to  be  put  off  even  by  this  very  clear  reproof, 
but  smoked  on  in  apparent  unconsciousness  of 
such  rebuff,  his  eyes  occasionally  turning  from 
the  news  columns  to  the  unmoved,  although  not 
stupid,  face  of  the  boy,  whose  hold  was  light 
upon  the  bridle,  but  perfectly  reliable,  as  had 
been  proved  many  times. 

Newton  was  fond  of  boy-nature — "boy  in  the 
original,"  he  called  it — and  the  boys  soon  dis- 
covered this,  and  almost  always  reciprocated 
with  warm  admiration  of  the  good-natured,  well- 
made,  quizzical  man,  who  protested,  with  per- 
fect frankness,  that  he  was  himself  "just  a  boy 


[28  Lida   Campbell,  or 

inside,"  in  spite  of  "  tumbling  up  somehow  "  into 
six  feet  or  so  and  a  pretty  good  breadth  of 
shoulder. 

Jim  liked  him.  Jim  had  always  a  broad  smile 
for  this  particular  guest  of  his  master,  and  was 
always  willing  to  undertake  any  errand  which 
he  might  desire. 

"  Hello,  Jim !"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly — so 
suddenly  that  the  boy  started  with  surprise. 
"  When  you  wake  up  some  fine  morning  and 
discover  that  you're  a  man,  what  are  you  going 
to  be,  professionally  or  non-professionally  ?" 

Jim  grinned.  His  teeth  were  white  and  even 
and  his  eyes  bright  with  intelligence. 

Newton  laughed,  tossing  away  his  segar. 

"  What'll  you  be,  Jim  ?  Come,  out  with  it. 
President,  professor,  peculiar  or  popular? 
That's  the  old  alphabet  game.  What's  your 
answer  ?" 

Jim  shifted  the  bridle  from  one  hand  to  the 
other  and  stroked  the  horse's  nose  as  it  turned 
its  head  and  fine  eyes  upon  the  boy. 

"  I   ain't  just   decided,  Mr.    Newton.     Guess, 


Drama  of  a  Life.  129 

though,  if  master'l!  let  me,  I'll  stay  with  him  as 
gard'ner.  I  like  that." 

"A  gardener?"  exclaimed  Newton,  somewhat 
taken  aback.  •'  And  you  say  it  with  such  pride  ! 
The  answer  was  to  be  in  '  p,'  you  know,  Jim.  I 
expected  President,  at  least." 

"  But  there's  them  as  makes  good  gard'ners 
and  there's  them  as  makes  bad,  Mr.  Newton," 
the  boy  eagerly  protested.  "  I  want  to  be  a 
good  one,  though.  There's  'most  always  room 
for  a  real  good  one,  you  know." 

"  A  '  real  good  '  anything — yes,  Jim,"  replied 
the  young  man,  amused  and  interested  by  the 
boy's  refusal  to  be  laughed  out  of  his  belief. 
"  The  answer  should  have  been  in  '  g  ;'  still  it  is 
safe  to  predict  your  success  anywhere  from  '  a ' 
to  '  z  !'  I'll  endorse  you,  my  lad.  It's  grit  that 
wins — grit  and  perseverance." 

Jim  nodded  decidedly.  Csesar,  the  horse, 
was  rubbing  his  nose  inquisitively  and  affection- 
ately upon  the  boy's  shoulder  and  champing  his 
bit.  Caesar  must  be  quieted.  But  quieting  the 
horse  did  not  stifle  thought  in  Jim's  breast — in 


130  Lida   Campbell,  or 

fact,  thought  was  pretty  active  in  the  boy's 
breast  at  that  moment;  but  as  Doctor  Graham 
and  Hastings  appeared,  no  further  conversation 
passed  between  himself  and  Newton  for  that  time. 

"  So,  you're  off,  Graham  ?"  Newton  queried, 
as  the  two  crossed  the  piazza  to  the  steps. 
"  How  is  Price  getting  on  ?" 

Neither  had  noticed  him,  being  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation,  and  they  started  when  he 
spoke. 

"  He  is  improving  rapidly,"  the  doctor 
replied,  although  the  frown  on  his  face  and  the 
half-angry  flash  in  his  eyes  denoted  anything  but 
an  improved  condition  of  his  own  feelings.  "  In 
fact,  he  is  improving  so  well,  that  I  leave  him  in 
Hastings'  hands.  All  right,  Jim  !"  He  sprang 
to  the  saddle  and  paused  for  a  moment,  the 
bridle  tightened  in  his  hands  as  the  boy  stepped 
aside  and  the  horse  reared,  eager  to  go.  "  Take 
good  care  of  Price,  you  fellows,  and  let  me  know 
if  you  need  me.  If  I  hear  nothing  from  you  I 
shall  come  down  to-morrow  to  learn  how  he 
is." 


Drama  of  a  Life.  1 3 1 

"  All  right,"  said  Hastings,  turning  back  into 
the  house  to  return  to  his  friend's  room. 

"  Good  luck,"  said  Newton,  laughing.  "  I'd 
like  to  see  you,  Graham,  but  I  hope  you'll  not 
be  summoned  for  professional  services." 

"  It  would  be  just  my  luck,  though,"  Graham 
muttered,  as  he  galloped  away,  "  to  miss  some 
features  of  Price's  illness.  As  soon  as  my  back 
is  turned  something  is  certain  to  occur  that  I 
wouldn't  have  missed  for  a  fortune." 

But  the  hours  of  the  late  summer  afternoon 
dragged  lazily  by  at  Bachelors'  Beatitude, 
drowsy  with  hazy  sunlight,  fragrant  with  odor- 
ous shrubs  and  flowers,  tender  with  murmuring 
waves  along  the  beach,  where  the  tide  was  at 
ebb  and  would  soon  turn  creeping  up  the 
pebbles. 

Mrs.  Estabrook  joined  Newton  upon  the 
piazza  as  the  afternoon  grew  late.  Mrs.  Esta- 
brook was  a  charming  woman  with  soft  white 
hair  and  large  brown  eyes  that  were  not  one 
whit  dimmed  by  the  passing  years.  Her 
heart  was  young  as  well  as  her  eyes,  her  young 


132  Lida   Campbell,  or 

friends  declared  ;  and  if  this  were  flattery,  it 
was  very  pretty  flattery.  She  brought  out  with 
her  an  intricate  scrap  of  embroidery,  and  her 
beautiful  hands  moved  lightly  to  and  fro  among 
the  silks,  as  she  talked  with  the  idle  young  man 
beside  her. 

The  house  and  grounds  were  very  quiet. 
Hastings  was  reading  to  Price,  in  the  cool 
shaded  room  above ;  Mayhew  had  joined  a 
party  of  ladies  with  their  escorts  for  an  excur- 
sion on  horseback  to  the  woods  back  of  the 
town;  Curtis  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  upper 
room  of  the  summer-house  on  the  edge  of  the 
lawn  facing  the  water,  oblivious  to  what  passed 
around  him  in  his  absorbed  study  of  a  book  on 
art;  Burnside  and  Morgan,  most  adventurous  of 
them  all,  were  fishing  on  the  Sound.  They 
were  enthusiastic  followers  of  hook  and  line, 
and  went  out  early  that  afternoon  in  a  rowboat 
— "  taking  themselves  off,"  as  they  put  it,  not  to 
be  in  the  way  of  their  host  or  to  claim  his 
attention. 

They  had  excellent  luck  off  Old  Horse  Rock, 


Drama  of  a  Life.  133 

on  the  border  land  of  the  bay  and  the  Sound, 
and  were  in  good  spirits  as  they  pulled  up 
anchor  and  started  for  the  shore. 

The  sun  was  setting  ;  the  tide  was  running  in 
strongly,  and  to  reach  the  house  in  time  for 
dinner  they  were  obliged  to  pull  a  steady  oar. 
They  were  going  in  with  the  tide,  but  it  was  a 
long  distance  to  land,  and  the  dinner  hour  was 
near  at  hand. 

"  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late,"  said  Morgan, 
replacing  his  watch  and  taking  a  firm  grip  on 
the  oars.  "Almost  half-past  seven,  Burnside, 
and  this  stretch  of  water  between  us  and  the 
house.  It's  '  row,  brothers,  row '  with  a  ven- 
geance, if  we  would  get  in  on  time." 

" '  Cheerily,  O !'  "  added  Burnside,  with  a 
hearty  roll  of  his  voice  along  the  call.  "  Pull 
away  !  Give  her  your  left  a  bit  more,  Herb. 
That's  it.  I  wonder  how  Price  is  now." 

"  Yes,  poor  fellow,"  said  Morgan,  seriously. 
"  They  can  say  what  they  choose,  and  hush  it  up 
if  they  will,  in  accordance  with  Graham's  wishes, 


134  Lida  Campbell,   or 

but  it's  a  mighty  strange  affair,  Burnside — all 
of  it." 

Burnside  nodded  gravely,  steering  their  course 
with  a  steady  hand  and  keen  eye. 

"  That's  what  it  is,  Morgan.  Price  is  too 
healthy  a  fellow  to  be  falling  off  promiscuously, 
as  he  has  been  doing  lately.  I  can  see  that  it 
puzzles  Graham,  too,  in  spite  of  his  nonchalance. 
Do  you  remember  the  day  he  rode  away  in  a 
huff  because  Conyers  didn't  summon  him  during 
an  illness  of  Lee's?  Pull  a  stroke  harder  on 
your  right.  Now  then,  straight  ahead !  All 
right !" 

The  oars  dipped  and  lifted  and  flashed  in  the 
soft  lights,  and  dipped  again  in  perfect  unison ; 
the  boat  was  gliding  through  the  water  with 
minor  sounds  of  "  gluck "  and  "glush"  and 
"gurgle"  of  the  water  at  the  bow,  as  their 
conversation  languished. 

"  And  Hastings,  too,"  said  Morgan  by  and  by, 
as  they  were  running  up  nearer  the  little  wooden 
pier  beside  the  boat-house,  where  the  keeper 
stood  waiting  for  them.  "  He  has  a  streak  of 


Drama  of  a  Life.  135 

'  freaks '  on  him,  as  well  as  Graham  and  Price, 
Rob.  Something  queer  to  disturb  those  fellows. 
They  are  not  easily  disturbed." 

"Yes,"  said  Burnside,  corroboratingly,  as  they 
stepped  from  the  boat,  the  boat-house  keeper's 
hand  upon  the  prow  to  steady  her.  "  But — 
Great  Scott !  What's  the  row,  Morgan  ?  Look 
there !" 

Along  the  road  across  the  salt  meadows,  in 
through  the  open  gateway  and  around  the  cir- 
cling drive  in  the  shadows  of  twilight  dashed  a 
horseman  regardless  of  the  animal  he  rode — 
coming,  and  'gone  almost  as  the  exclamation 
crossed  the  young  man's  lips.  Gone,  halted  at 
the  piazza  steps,  the  rider  flinging  himself  from 
the  saddle  and  hurrying  up  the  steps  as  they 
paused  upon  the  pier,  too  much  astonished  to 
move. 

"  It's  the  young  master,"  the  boat-keeper  said, 
with  grave  respect,  as  he  watched  with  them  the 
advent  of  this  rider.  "  He's  took  worse.  They 
do  say  as  he's  a-  dyin',  an'  they  sent  for  the 
doctor  to  come." 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN    THE    SICK-ROOM. 

He  is  gone  with  the  age  which  begat  him.     Our  own 
Is  too  vast  and  too  complex  for  one  man  alone 
To  embody  its  purpose,  and  hold  it  shut  close 
In  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

OWEN  MERIDITH. 

Little  cared  Doctor  Graham  what  was  said  or 
who  were  watching  him  as  he  rode  his  horse 
recklessly,  in  his  haste  to  reach  his  friend.  Foam 
was  on  the  horse's  mouth  as  Graham  threw  the 
bridle  upon  his  neck  and  sprang  down.  Jim 
was  running  from  the  stables  to  take  the  horse, 
having  seen  the  doctor  approaching,  but  the 
animal  was  breathing  hard  and  his  head  was 
lowered  and  there  was  no  probability  that  he 
would  avail  himself  of  this  opportunity  to  run. 
It  is  doubtful  if  Doctor  Graham  would  have 
cared,  had  such  an  event  occurred,  in  his  state 
[136] 


Drama  of  a  Life.  137 

of  anxiety  and  anger  at  the  luckless  fortune  that 
removed  him  from  his  friend's  side,  when  most 
he  was  needed. 

Hastings  was  nowhere  in  sight ;  but  he  did 
not  expect  to  see  him,  being  certain  that  he  was 
with  Price.  Mayhew  and  Newton  were  loung- 
ing restlessly  in  the  hall.  But  Graham  stopped 
to  question  no  one.  As  he  sprang  up  the  stair- 
case, Mayhew  called  to  him  in  an  undertone  to 
send  down  word  as  soon  as  possible  as  to  the 
condition  of  their  host. 

"  He's  in  a  deuce  of  a  state,"  added  Newton, 
pausing  half  way  down  the  hall,  his  hands 
clasped  at  his  back,  as  he  watched  the  physician 
hurrying  up  the  stairs.  "  I  never  heard  of  such 
a  thing  in  my  life.  A  fellow  so  healthy  as 
he." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mayhew  ;  "  and  such  sudden 
attacks.  It's  mighty  curious,  that's  what  it  is, 
Ned." 

But  Graham  neither  turned  nor  replied  as  he 
sprang  up  the  staircase.  His  face  was  set  and 
his  lips  stern,  as  he  paused  in  the  upper  hall  to 


138  Li  da   Campbell,  or 

regain  composure.  This  was  a  desperate  battle 
which  he  was  called  upon  to  fight  with  a  subtle 
enemy,  and  he  knew  it. 

Many  of  his  cases  had  been  trying,  many 
almost  hopeless  when  placed  in  his  hands  ;  but 
this  was  utterly  different.  This  meant  life,  or 
death  sudden  and  violent.  He  needed  every 
faculty  clear  and  steady  when  he  entered  his 
patient's  room,  and  he  commanded  himself  pow- 
erfully, as  he  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  and 
went  in. 

Hastings  was  at  the  bedside,  of  course — and 
Conyers.  He  was  certain  that  Hastings  would 
be  there,  but  had  not  expected  to  see  Conyers — 
Conyers,  calm,  pale,  noiseless  and  perfectly 
unabashed  by  his  displeasure  of  a  few  hours  pre- 
viously. Conyers  as  inscrutable  as  ever — and 
as  faithful. 

Mrs.  Estabrook  was  also  at  the  bedside,  her 
face  gentle  with  sympathy,  as  one  soft  hand 
brushed  back  the  clinging  dark  hair  from  the 
forehead  upon  which  were  set  the  drops  of  the 
struggle  between  life  and  death.  Price  was 


Drama  of  a  Life.  139 

lying  almost  insensible  upon  the  pillows,  a  start- 
ling pallor  upon  his  face.  One  hand  was  upon 
the  coverlet  and  the  other  was  thrust  beneath 
his  pillow,  as  though  even  in  his  intense  suffer- 
ing he  would  hide  his  pain  from  his  friends. 

Hastings'  face  lighted  as  Graham  entered  ; 
Hastings  felt  the  necessity  of  experienced  care 
in  this  case,  and  stepped  aside  to  give  place  to 
the  physician.  Mrs.  Estabrook  looked  up  with 
sorrow  and  pleading  blended  upon  her  face  and 
"in  the  beautiful  dark  eyes.  Conyers  had  drawn 
the  lace  drapery  at  the  windows  and  set  a  light, 
softened,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  patient's  eyes 
and  was  now  waiting  for  orders  ;  for  he  knew 
that  there  would  be  such. 

Graham  set  his  medicine  case  upon  a  stand 
and  bent  over  the  young  man  upon  the  pillows. 
His  eyes  were  brilliant  with  swift  comprehen- 
sion and  shrewd  wisdom.  He  ordered  a  glass 
of  water,  and  when  Conyers  brought  it  he  pre- 
pared a  cordial,  which  he  held  to  the  patient's 
lips  with  a  steady  hand,  raising  his  head  upon 
his  arm  with  more  than  professional  tenderness. 


140  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  Drink  it,  Price,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Never 
mind  if  you  don't  want  to.  It  will  bring  you 
back  to  life." 

The  young  man  mechanically  obeyed.  Mrs. 
Estabrook  turned  the  pillows  with  deft  thought- 
fulness,  and  Graham  laid  him  gently  back. 

"  He  will  either  greatly  recover  in  half  an 
hour,"  he  said,  with  wonderful  composure, 
addressing  Mrs.  Estabrook,  "  or  he  will  have 
passed  beyond  aid.  The  potion  I  have  adminis- 
tered will  put  him  into  a  sleep  from  which  he 
will  waken  better — or  he  will  never  waken.  At 
this  moment  the  balance  is  equal.  I  wish  you  to 
perfectly  understand  the  case,  then  I  must  ask 
you  to  leave  the  room,  every  one — but  Con- 
yers." 

Hastings  turned  upon  him  a  face  of  blank 
astonishment.  He  expected  this  order  for  quiet, 
but  believed  that  Graham  would  desire  his  pres- 
ence. He  and  Graham  understood  each  other 
pretty  well.  Both  were  almost  convinced  of  the 
cause  of  this  strange  illness ;  both  were  deter- 
mined to  discover  if  this  suspicion  were  correct. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  141 

And  yet — Graham  ordered  him  away  and 
detained  Conyers  !  It  was  incredible,  and  rather 
humiliating. 

Hastings  turned  away  with  a  frown,  which 
was  not  lost  upon  the  quiet  but  observant  phy- 
sician. 

"  I  may  need  you  presently,  Tom,"  he  said, 
his  eyes  bent  upon  the  white  face  on  the  pillows. 
"  Be  ready  to  come  when  I  summon  you." 

And  as  Hastings,  mollified,  opened  the  door 
for  Mrs.  Estabrook  to  pass  out,  following  her, 
Graham  turned  to  the  valet,  standing  obedient 

\ 

and  respectful,  somewhat  apart  from  the  bed 
and  beyond  sight  of  his  sleeping  master. 

A  sudden  change  struck  the  physician's  face. 
His  eyes  were  blazing,  his  face  hard  as  stone, 
his  lips  almost  cruel  in  their  sternness.  Even 
the  hitherto  immovable  valet  was  for  a  moment 
startled  from  his  composure.  But  only  for  a 
moment. 

"Conyers!"  Graham  said,  and  his  voice 
although  low  was  stonily  stern  like  his  face. 
He  stood  facing  the  man  in  a  storm  of  passion 


142  Lida  Campbell,  or 

and  indignation  under  a  cool,  still  exterior,  one 
hand  even  resting  lightly  upon  the  stand  beside 
him. 

For  an  instant  Conyers'  eyes  fell  before  the 
fire  in  Graham's ;  then  he  met  the  gaze  as 
unmoved  as  ever. 

"  Conyers,"  repeated  Graham,  "  when  I  left 
here  this  afternoon  your  master  had  almost 
entirely  recovered  from  the  last  attack  of  illness. 
Five  hours  later  he  is  seized  with  another  attack 
more  violent  than  before,  and  I  find  him  lying 
at  the  point  of  death — with  only  a  hair's  breadth 
difference  between  life  and  death." 

Conyers  made  no  answer,  but  he  heard.  His 
eyes  quivered  or  scintillated  or  changed  in  some 
remarkable  manner  that  puzzled  even  this  alert 
physician,  on  the  lookout  for  some  betraying 
sign.  That  was  all.  Graham  wondered,  a 
moment  later,  if  his  own  eyes  had  not  deceived 
him. 

"  These  attacks  are  suspicious,"  added  the 
physician,  his  eyes  keenly  searching  the  valet's 
face.  Nothing  there  save  quiet  attention — the 


Drama  of  a  Life.  143 

waiting  for  some  order  to  follow.  "  They  do 
not  come  from  natural  disease.  I  have  almost 
made  certain  the  exact  cause  of  this.  When  I 
have  done  so  beyond  doubt " — no  start ;  no 
change  ;  absolutely  nothing  but  the  most  per- 
fectly respectful  attention — "  some  one  will  have 
to  answer  for  the  cause.  If  he  dies — 

"  We  hope  that  he  will  not  die,  sir,"  said  Con- 
yers,  quietly,  as  the  doctor  paused,  with  intense 
meaning  in  his  voice. 

"  We  hope  that  he  will  not,"  said  Graham, 
coldly,  knowing  that  recovery  would  be  one  of 
the  miracles  of  science,  "  for  many  reasons. 
Partly  because — some  one  would  have  to  answer 
for  that,  also." 

No  reply  ;  no  movement  whatever  on  the  part 
of  the  valet. 

"  I  left  Mr.  Hastings  in  charge  when  I  went 
away.  Who  else  has  been  here,  Conyers?" 

An  abrupt  question,  receiving  prompt 
response : 

"  The  housekeeper,  sir.  She  brought  up  the 
master's  supper." 


144  Lida   Campbell,  or 

"  Who  prepared  his  supper?" 

"  She  did,  sir." 

"  Mrs.  Leonard  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Did  Emma,  the  housemaid,  assist  her  in  this, 
Conyers  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir." 

'"  Did— you  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  table 
service,  sir." 

No  annoyance ;  no  ruffling  of  his  perfect  self- 
possession  ;  not  even  resentment  at  this  strange 
questioning.  The  eyes  scintillated  for  an  instant. 
That  was  all. 

"  Has  no  one  else  been  here,  Conyers?" 

"  No,  sir.     Excepting  Mrs.  Estabrook,  sir." 

"  Not  even  Emma  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  What  was  brought  up  for  your  master's 
supper  ?" 

"  Oysters,  sir,  on  toast,  and  a  bit  of  broiled 
chicken." 

"Coffee?" 


Drama  of  a  Life.  145 

"No,  sir;  just  a  glass  of  wine  he  desired 
afterward." 

"Did  he  drink  it?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Who  brought  it?" 

"  Emma,  sir." 

44  You  said  that  Emma  had  not  been  in  the 
room." 

u  She  brought  the  wine  to  the  door.  She  has 
not  been  in  here,  sir." 

"  A  fine  distinction  with  no  manner  of  differ- 
ence," retorted  Graham,  in  sudden  irritation. 
"  Did  your  master  have  no  fruit  with  his  supper  ?" 

"  Peaches,  sir,  and  a  few  late  berries." 

"  These  were  brought  in  with  his  supper  by 
Mrs.  Leonard  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Did  Emma  pour  the  wine  for  your  mas- 
ter?" 

"  No,  sir.     Gordon  did  that." 

"  Gordgp  ?     He  is  the  butler,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Gordon  was  irreproachable. 


146  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"Very  well.  That  will  do.  I  think  that  you 
understand  the  situation  perfectly  and  know 
what  is  liable  to  happen  under  certain  circum- 
stances. You  may  go  now,  Conyers.  Send  Mr. 
Hastings  to  me." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Conyers,  respectfully,  as  the 
door  closed  behind  him  without  a  sound  and  the 
doctor  was  left  alone  with  his  patient. 

"  By  George !"  he  muttered  impatiently  to 
himself.  "  That  fellow  is  enough  to  try  the 
patience  of  a  saint.  I  never  saw  anything  equal 
to  him.  He  isn't  to  be  moved  from  his  perfect 
composure  even  by  dynamite.  But  I  rather 
believe  that  he  knows  now  what  to  expect.  It 
may  be  unwise  to  let  him  know  that  I  am  on 
the  right  track,  but  I  have  given  him  a  chance 
to  be  loyal  if  he  wishes.  '  Hope  he  will  not  die,' 
indeed!  Humph!  Pretty  well  said,  my  man, 
but  open  to  question." 

He  turned  to  the  bed  and  leaned  over  the 
sleeper,  watching  his  respiration  ^critically. 
This  sleep  meant  so  much.  The  drug  which  he 
administered  was  so  powerful  as  to  deaden  even 


Drama  of  a  Life.  147 

Price's  extreme  suffering  and  quiet  him  to  sleep; 
but  as  its  effects  wore  off  the  patient  would  drift 
back  to  life  or  sink  into  the  slumber  that  knows 
no  waking  upon  earth.  A  few  hours  at  most 
must  decide. 

Graham  sighed  unconsciously  as  he  laid  his 
fingers  lightly  over  the  pulse  of  the  wrist.  The 
pulse  was  weak,  irregular,  but  proved  that  the 
red  blood  of  life  still  coursed  through  the  veins 
carrying  food  to  the  heart.  Respiration  also 
was  irregular,  at  times  so  faint  breath  scarcely 
stirred  the  lips,  at  times  much  stronger,  as 
though  the  lungs  and  heart  were  struggling 
against  the  enemy  that  would  paralyze  their 
functions  and  bring  death. 

This  man's  life  was  so  much  to  his  friends,  so 
much  to  all  who  knew  him  or  who  had  tested  his 
kindness  of  heart  and  generosity.  No  one  had 
ever  been  turned  unsatisfied  from  his  door.  No 
friend  or  stranger  had  come  to  him  for  help  and 
been  denied.  Many  unconsciously  owed  to  his 
wealth  or  influence  their  start  in  life. 

The  servants  of  his  household,  the  clerks  in  his 


148  Lida  Campbell,  or 

city  offices  were  warm  in  his  praise.  He  made 
no  pretensions  ;  his  name  never  appeared  upon 
charity  lists ;  but  charity  never  asked  of  him  in 
vain.  That  which  he  did  was  known  only  to 
himself  and  God.  Even  those  whom  he  assisted 
were  ignorant  to  whose  hand  they  owed  much, 
if  ignorance  were  possible. 

It  was  such  a  man  as  this  who  lay  unconscious, 
the  scale  of  life  and  death  equally  balanced,  so 
much  as  a  feather's  weight  capable  of  determin- 
ing the  result.  It  was  such  a  man  as  this  lay 
there  stricken  with  more  than  natural  physical 
disease.  It  was  such  a  man  as  this  was  chosen 
for  one  of  the  principal  characters  in  the  drama 
of  a  life. 

Not  with  his  consent — not  even  with  his 
knowledge,  but  written  in  the  books  of  fate  to 
fill  the  part  assigned  him. 

"  It  is  horrible  !"  Graham  muttered  to  himself, 
still  gazing  down  upon  the  white  face.  "  Horrible  ! 
Such  a  fellow  as  Price  of  all  men.  I  wish  I  were 
given  the  power  to  judge  and  condemn  one 
person  I  know — possibly  two  or  more.  Their 


Drama  of  a  Life.  149 

liberty  would  be  of  little  consequence  in  an 
hour,  I  can  tell  them.  But  we  will  save  you, 
Price,  old  fellow — we  will  save  you  yet  if  there 
is  sufficient  power  in  science." 

"Yes,"  said  Hastings'  quiet  voice  beside  him. 
"  //"there  is  sufficient  power,  Jack." 


CHAPTER  XL 

DOCTOR  GRAHAM'S  VISITOR. 

Men  usefulest  i'  the  world  are  simply  used. 

AURORA  LEIGH. 

The  balance  stood  evenly  swayed,  now  one 
way,  now  the  other,  and  then  life  outweighed 
death  in  that  hushed  room  at  Bachelors'  Beati- 
tude. It  was  almost  a  miracle,  Doctor  Graham 
said,  discussing  it  with  the  young  men  so  anxi- 
ously waiting  the  result  of  their  host's  illness. 

"  A  wonderful  illustration  of  the  power  of 
science  against  science,"  he  said,  in  calm  satisfac- 
tion. "  When  I  administered  the  antidote — " 

"  The     antidote !"     interrupted    Mayhew,    in 


150  Lida   Campbell,  or 

surprise.  "  Why,  I  always  thought  that  anti- 
dotes were  used  only  in  cases  of  poison,  Graham." 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders  coolly. 

"  Did  I  say  antidote,  Mayhew  ?  Well,  cordial 
will  do,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  When  I  admin- 
istered the  drug  that  sent  Price  to  sleep  yes- 
terday, I  had  scarcely  a  thought,  scarcely  a 
fragment  of  hope  that  it  would  be  of  the  least 
benefit  to  him.  There  was  never — and  I  say  it 
in  all  possible  humility — such  another  case  that 
survived.  The  symptoms  left  almost  no  loop- 
hole for  escape  from  death." 

"  What  do  you  consider  the  cause — the  disease 
— whatever  you  call  it?"  queried  Morgan.  "  It 
has  puzzled  me  long  enough.  1  shall  be  grate- 
ful for  the  least  solution  to  the  mystery." 

"  There  is  very  little  mystery  about  it — now," 
replied  Graham,  with  a  scarcely  perceptible 
pause  before  the  last  word.  "  It  can  easily  be 
solved  and  summed  up  in  less  than  a  half-dozen 
words — convulsions  and  internal  paralysis." 

"  And  I  take  it  that  that  generally  means — 
death,"  said  Burnside,  gravely. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  151 

"  Almost  invariably,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 
"  As  I  said,  I  had  absolutely  no  hope  of 
his  recovery  at  the  time.  He  is  not  yet  out  of 
danger.  In  fact,  he  is  in  continual  danger  of 
relapse  or  recurrence  of  the  symptoms,  and  such 
would  undoubtedly  prove  fatal.  Rather  garru- 
lous for  a  physician — this  synopsis  of  mine,  but 
it  will  do  no  harm  for  you  fellows  to  know. 
Hastings  is  with  him  now.  No  one  else,  save 
myself,  is  to  enter  his  room  until  I  secure  a 
nurse.  He  must  have  a  nurse,  of  course." 

"  Then  it  is  serious,"  Newton  said,  rather 
blankly.  Up  to  that  moment  he  had  perfect 
faith  in  Price's  magnificent  physique  to  over- 
come such  physical  evil. 

"  Well,  rather,"  was  the  concise  reply,  as  the 
young  doctor  drew  on  his  gloves,  walking 
through  the  hall  to  the  piazza.  "  I  am  obliged 
to  go  to  my  office,  to  make  further  arrange- 
ments with  Hutchinson,  and  Hastings  will  take 
my  place  up-stairs  for  the  time.  There  is  no  use 
for  you  to  attempt  to  see  Price,  for  my  com- 
mand  is  '  No  admittance,'  and  Hastings  would 


152  Lida   Campbell,  or 

fight  any  one  of  you  who  made  the  effort.  Your 
share  of  this  unfortunate  affair  is  to  keep  the  house 
as  quiet  as  possible ;  not  glum,  you  know,  but 
rather  more  docile  than  a  week  ago.  Good  bye, 
boys.  Remember  my  instructions  if  you  hope 
for  happiness  with  Hastings." 

And  with  a  laughing  word  to  Jim,  as  he  took 
the  bridle  from  his  hand,  Doctor  Graham 
mounted  and  rode  away  in  the  broad  sunlight 
of  the  morning,  leaving  the  young  men  watch- 
ing him  from  the  piazza. 

"  Very  pretty,  so  far  as  it  goes,  that  explana- 
tion," said  Newton,  presently,  taking  a  cigar 
case  from  his  pocket  and  selecting  from  its  con- 
tents with  fastidious  care,  as  he  leaned  against 
one  of  the  shaded  pillars. 

"  Yes,"  said  Curtis,  seating  himself  in  one  of 
the  piazza  chairs.  "  But  not  a  great  deal  of  it, 
Ned." 

"There  s  more  to  it  than  Jack  puts  words  in 
it,  mark  my  words,"  rejoined  Burnside,  medita- 
tively. "  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  it.  To  my 
thinking  it  is  altogether  off  color." 


Drama  of  a  Life.  153 

"  Perhaps  it  may  ripen,"  suggested  Morgan, 
coolly. 

"Of  this  I  am  assured,"  Doctor  Graham  said 
to  himself,  as  he  rode  along  without  heeding  the 
exquisite  late  summer  morning's  beauty,  the 
budded  golden-rod  at  the  roadside  mingling 
with  the  tiny  purplish  daisies,  and  offset  by  the 
fields  of  white  daisies  stretching  away  to  mingle 
with  the  tall  river  grasses  and  the  blue  of  the 
water.  "  I  left  Tom  Hastings  in  the  room  with 
such  precautionary  words  as  he  understood.  No 
one  will  enter  there  during  my  absence,  and  no 
meals  will  be  served  to  the  patient.  There  can 
be  no  danger  this  time  except  from  relapse  ;  but 
1  think  he  will  be  able  to  pull  through  until  my 
return  with  a  nurse." 

When  Doctor  Graham  reached  his  office  he 
found  many  things  waiting  his  return — papers 
and  letters  and  household  orders,  all  such  as  his 
associate  could  not  attempt  without  him.  There 
were  patients,  also,  in  the  reception  room,  who 
insisted  upon  seeing  him,  on  learning  of  his 


154  Lida  Campbell,  or 

presence  in  the  house,  and  for  an  hour  he  was 
kept  continually  busy. 

After  that,  he  sent  for  Doctor  Hutchinson, 
and  explained  the  necessity  of  his  presence  at 
Bachelors'  Beatitude.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
much  of  his  time  for  the  coming  weeks  would 
be  required  by  his  friend,  and  during  that  time 
he  left  all  things  in  Hutchinson's  hands. 

After  this  was  done,  Graham  felt  free  to 
return  to  Price  and  to  make  arrangements  for  a 
nurse.  It  was  necessary  that  some  reliable  per- 
son should  be  engaged ;  for,  although  Hastings 
and  the  other  guest*  were  willing  to  do  for  their 
host  all  that  lay  in  their  power,  yet  they  knew 
absolutely  nothing  about  a  sick-room  or  the  care 
of  a  patient. 

But  as  Graham  was  sitting  for  a  moment  idly 
beside  the  desk,  the  hall-boy  opened  the  door 
and  announced  a  visitor  for  "  Doctor  Graham." 

Simultaneously  with  these  words  a  quiet, 
elderly  woman  entered,  her  snow-white  hair 
softly  waved  about  her  delicate  face,  her  eyes, 
dark  and  clear,  warm  with  life  and  very  steady 


Drama  of  a  Life.  155 

—eyes  that  one  could  trust,  if  there  were  need, 
Doctor  Graham  assured  himself  as  he  turned  to 
her — a  gentle  mouth,  about  which  would  lurk  a 
hint  of  old-time  smiling.  She  was  neatly  dressed 
in  gray,  and  her  hands,  as  she  moved  one  in  a 
pretty  half-gesture,  in  addressing  the  physician, 
were  remarkably  well  formed  and  small. 

"  This  is  Doctor  Graham,  I  think,  sir?" 

"  I  am  Doctor  Graham ;  yes,  madam.  Will 
you  not  be  seated  ?" 

He  placed  a  chair  for  her,  with  a  strange  feel- 
ing of  pleasure  in  her  presence,  smiling  as  he 
spoke. 

"  You  do  not  know  me,"  said  the  woman,  gen- 
tly. Her  voice  was  delightful,  softly  modulated 
and  clear.  "  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  a  stranger 
even  to  your  pretty  town.  A  charming  town, 
is  it  not?  But  I  did  not  come  here  for  mere 
beauty  of  surroundings,  and  should  explain  to 
you  quickly.  Your  time  is  fully  occupied,  I  am 
sure.  Mine  generally  is,  too.  We  have  that 
ground  for  friendship,  Doctor  Graham.  Now, 


156  Lida  Campbell,  or 

pardon  me  for  venturing  upon  your  time  and  I 
will  make  my  explanation." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  hear  it,"  said  Doctor 
Graham,  courteously.  He  was  strangely 
attracted  by  this  woman's  beauty  and  voice. 
"I  trust  that  there  will  prove  no  doubt  to  the 
grounds  of  our  friendship,  madam." 

"  You  are  kind,"  said  his  visitor,  sweetly.  A 
slow,  soft  color  was  mounting  in  her  cheeks,  and 
an  added  flash  made  the  gray  eyes  brilliant.  "  I 
trust  that  we  may  prove  to  be  friends,  Doctor 
Graham,  but  only  time  will  show.  I  called  upon 
you  in  regard  to  business,  however,  rather  than 
friendship.  You  are  acquainted  with  Doctor 
Oldham,  of  New  York,  are  you  not?" 

"  I  know  of  him  through  his  reputation,  not 
otherwise,  madam.  But  his  reputation  is  of  the 
best.  He  is  your  friend,  perhaps?"  There  was 
a  slight  hesitation  in  his  voice.  He  would  not 
have  her  consider  him  inquisitive  ;  he  wished 
only  to  assist  her  in  an  explanation  that  might 
be  trying  to  her,  and  he  was  in  some  haste  to 
return  to  his  patient  at  Bachelors'  Beatitude, 


Drama  of  a  Life.  157 

Still,  he  wished  to  retain  this  woman's  good  will. 
He  smiled  involuntarily,  thinking  how  strange  it 
was  that  he  should  think  of  her  in  this  manner 
upon  their  first  meeting,  even  before  he  knew 
her  name  or  errand. 

His  visitor  smiled  also,  catching  this  smile 
upon  his  lips.  Doctor  Graham's  face  was 
wonderfully  winning  when  he  smiled. 

"  Doctor  Oldham  is  merely  an  acquaintance  of 
mine,"  said  the  woman,  in  her  musical  voice, 
"  I  could  not  quite  claim  him  as  my  friend. 
There  is  too  much  meaning  in  that  one  word  to 
be  used  so  lightly  as  we  are  accustomed  to  do. 
Doctor  Oldham  sent  me  to  you  with  a  letter  of 
introduction,  Doctor  Graham.  I  learned  in  a 
peculiar  way  that  you  desire  a  nurse  for  a 
patient  now  under  your  care.  If  you  will  read 
this  letter,  Doctor  Graham,  and  give  me  a  trial, 
I  feel  assured  that  you  will  be  satisfied." 

She  drew  a  letter  from  her  hand-bag  as  she 
spoke  and  handed  it  to  the  physician,  her  eyes 
very  bright,  her  lips  half  parted  as  though  it 


158  Lido,  Campbell,  or 

were  much  to  her  whether  or  not  he  approved 
of  her  offered  services. 

A  slight  frown,  just  the  shadow  of  a  frown 
touched  Doctor  Graham's  brow  as  he  took  the 
letter  extended  to  him.  He  had  learned  from  a 
busy  and  difficult  life  that  the  keeping  of  one's 
own  counsel,  few  words  and  scant  gossip  were 
the  hinges  to  success.  He  was  even  more 
annoyed  than  he  cared  to  show  this  sweet  elderly 
woman  because  some  one  had  made  known  his 
desire  to  secure  a  nurse  for  one  of  his  patients — 
this  special  patient  of  them  all ;  for  he  was  per- 
fectly assured  in  his  own  mind  that  the  woman 
spoke  of  Lee  Price. 

Nevertheless,  he  took  the  letter  from  her  with 
a  murmured  apology,  and  opening  it,  glanced 
over  the  contents.  It  was  a  very  simple  yet 
strong  recommendation  of  the  bearer,  Mrs.  Car- 
michael,  to  Doctor  John  Graham.  He  spoke  of 
the  woman  as  a  careful,  reliable  person,  one 
whom  he,  Doctor  Graham,  could  feel  no  hesi- 
tation in  accepting  as  a  nurse  for  the  patient  for 
whom,  he  understood,,  he  desired  such  a  nurse. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  159 

\Vhcn  Doctor  John  Graham  had  read  and 
re-read  this — for  so  he  could  gain  time  to  think 
quietly  upon  the  matter  before  he  addressed  the 
woman — he  laid  it  aside  upon  his  desk  and 
glanced  up  to  the  bearer.  The  frown  had  deep- 
ened upon  his  brows  and  was  now  sharply  lined 
between  the  straight  black  eyebrows,  even 
shadowing  the  searching  eyes  beneath.  His  lips 
betrayed  their  possible  sternness  and  a  fine, 
almost  imperceptible  chill  was  in  his  manner, 
although  he  was  still  the  courteous  gentleman 
and  careful  physician. 

"  Doctor  Oldham's  reputation  is  such,"  he 
said,  quietly,  his  stern  eyes  meeting  the  clear 
eyes  opposite,  but  never  forcing  them  to  falter 
or  fall,  "  as  to  be  sufficient  for  the  introduction 
of  a  nurse  for  any  ordinary  case,  Mrs.  Car- 
michael ;  but  this  is  not  an  ordinary  case." 

"  I  know  that  it  is  not,"  said  the  woman,  just 
as  quietl 

Graham's  eyes  contracted. 

"You  appear  to  have  received  your  intelli- 
gence to  the  extreme  condition  of  the  case, 


160  Lida  Campbell,  or 

madam,"  he  said,  coldly.  "  May  I  inquire  from 
whom  it  was  received  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you — presently,"  was  the  soft 
reply.  There  was  something  in  her  eyes,  also, 
that  betrayed  caution  and  shrewdness.  "  When 
you  have  more  confidence  in  me,  Doctor 
Graham.  Neither  you  nor  I  can  do  anything 
about  this  peculiar  case  without  the  most  per- 
fect confidence  in  each  other." 

Doctor  Graham  began  to  lose  confidence  in 
her  alarmingly.  The  frown  was  dark  between 
his  darkening  eyes. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  been  misinformed  as  to 
this  case,  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  he  said,  sternly. 

A  soft,  slow  smile  stirred  upon  her  lips ;  the 
sparkle  deepened  in  her  eyes. 

"  When  I  have  made  my  explanation — pres- 
ently— you  will  understand  that  this  is  not  so," 
she  said,  gently. 

He  bit  his  lip  in  annoyance.  This  sort  of  a 
nurse  was  rather  more  than  he  had  bargained  for. 

"  You  have  had  experience  in  nursing,  of 
course?"  he  said,  wishing  to  fully  comprehend 


Drama  of  a  Life.  161 

her  motive  and  to  test  her.  He  was  not  alto- 
gether pleased  with  himself  or  her,  for  he  knew 
that  her  gentle  personality  was  dulling  his  keen- 
ness of  perception,  and  he  must  be  absolutely 
dagger-sharp  in  this  case.  "  Doctor  Oldham 
would  otherwise  not  have  sent  you  to  me  at 
this  time,  Mrs.  Carmichael.  Are  you  a  trained 
nurse  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  She  was  paling  and 
flushing  as  though  she  could  not  endure  a  refusal 
of  her  services.  His  quick  eyes  noted  this  agi- 
tation. 

"  I  am  not  a  trained  nurse — no,  doctor,  but  I 
have  been  so  successful  in  such  cases  as  I  have 
undertaken  that  Doctor  Oldham  expressed  him- 
self perfectly  willing  to  recommend  me  to  you. 
If  you  will  give  me  your  attention  for  a  few 
moments  longer,  1  can  satisfy  you,  I  am  certain, 
as  to  my  nerve  and  reliability.  The  time  will 
not  be  lost  in  listening,  believe  me." 

He  bowed,  and  his  stern  lips  parted  in  a  smile. 
He  believed  her,  too,  in  his  inner  consciousness, 


1 62  Li  da   Campbell,  or 

but  he  dared   not  yield  his  vigilance  or  set  a 
woman's  face  and  voice  against  a  man's  life. 

She  leaned  forward  a  trifle  nearer  him,  her 
clear  eyes  upon  his,  her  face  paling  in  its  earnest, 
ness,  one  hand  lightly  touching  his  desk.  Her 
voice  when  she  spoke  was  at  first  low  and  hur- 
ried ;  but  as  she  concluded,  her  utterance  was 
calm  and  concise. 

A  change  passed  over  Doctor  Graham  also,  as 
she  proceeded  in  her  explanation  ;  and  when  she 
ceased,  his  face  rivaled  hers  in  pallor,  his  eyes 
the  fire  in  hers. 

She  arose  as  she  finished  speaking,  and  he 
arose  with  her.  Silence  fell  upon  them  as 
though  speech  were  impossible  to  either. 
Then  he  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm  as  he  queried 
in  a  voice  that  was  low  from  his  effort  to  com- 
mand its  excitement: 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Carmichael — one  question 
more  :  To  whom  do  you  owe  your  discovery  of 
my  patient's  condition  ?" 

And  her  eyes  were  steadily  lifted  to  his,  no 


Drama  of  a  Life.  163 

flinching  in  their  calm,  gray  depths  as  she  replied 
sweetly  and  without  a  tremor  in  her  voice : 

"  I  owe  this  entirely  to  one  of  the  servants  of 
his  own  household,  Dr.  Graham — to  the  girl 
whom  I  believe  they  call  Emma  !" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A   GENTLENURSE. 

Men,  upon  the  whole, 
Are  what  they  can  be. 

CASA  GUIDI  WINDOWS. 

Lee  Price  had  been  quietly  sleeping  for  half 
an  hour.  It  was  close  upon  noon  when  he 
wakened  with  a  tingling  sensation  of  hunger. 
He  was  very  comfortable  ;  rather  weak,  but 
without  pain,  and  turned  his  head  upon  the 
pillow  to  address  Hastings,  who  was  sitting 
beside  the  bed,  reading  a  newspaper,  when  he 
fell  asleep. 

But  Hastings  was  not  there — was  not  any- 
where in  sight. 


164  Lida  Campbell,  or 

Price  opened  his  eyes  wider  now,  looking 
about  him.  He  was  decidedly  hungry  and 
rather  curious  to  know  if  he  were  alone,  for  he 
had  not  been  alone  one  moment  during  the  past 
two  days  and  nights. 

The  room  was  cool  and  shadowy,  even  in  the 
mid-day  glare.  The  blinds  were  half  closed,  the 
shades  pulled  down  half  way,  and  the  lace 
drapery  moved  and  swayed  with  a  delightfu 
suggestion  of  soft  winds  from  across  the  water 
ladened  with  the  garden's  spicy  odors. 

Delicious  quiet  reigned  erery  where;  the 
broken  hum  of  voices  from  the  piazza  below 
drifted  in  with  that  low  breeze,  so  mingled  with 
the  fragrance  of  shrubs  and  roses  as  to  seem  but 
parts  of  a  dream;  the  silence  was  so  clear  that 
he  could  catch  the  rattle  and  thud  of  oyster  rakes 
against  the  side  of  a  boat  somewhere  out  on  the 
water.  He  knew  that  the  tide  was  rising  or  at 
flood,  by  that  sound,  and  glanced  toward  the 
clock  upon  his  dressing-case,  to  learn  the  hour. 

Someone  stirred  in  the  room,  and  his  keen  ear 
caught  the  stir  of  a  woman's  soft  garments. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  165 

Turning  quickly  toward  the  sound,  he  encoun- 
tered the  pleasant  glance  of  a  pair  of  soft,  dark 
eyes,  and  the  hint  of  exquisite  white  hair  softly 
waved  about  the  face,  as  a  woman  rose  from  the 
bamboo  chair  by  one  of  the  windows  and 
approached  the  bed.  There  was  something  so 
charming,  so  restful,  so  homelike  in  her  mere 
movement,  that  Price  slowly  sank  back  among 
the  pillows  watching  her,  for  the  moment  for- 
getting to  address  her. 

"  You  have  had  a  most  beneficial  sleep, "- 
what  a  charming  voice  she  had,  he  thought, 
listening  with  a  restful  sensation  of  perfect  con- 
tentment— "  and  now  I  have  no  doubt  that  you 
are  hungry,  Mr.  Price.  You  need  not  hesitate  to 
acknowledge  it,  for  it  is  what  I  expect  of  you, 
and  should  be  disappointed  not  to  hear." 

She  smiled,  and  Lee  smiled  back  at  her,  more 
and  more  pleased  with  his  attendant,  knowing, 
without  questioning,  that  she  was  a  nurse. 

"  I  am  hungry,"  he  said,  his  eyes  still  upon 
her  sweet,  quiet  face,  lighted  with  those  dark 
eyes,  surrounded  by  the  delicate,  white  hair,  as 


1 66  Lida   Campbell,  or 

she  softly  smoothed  the  rumpled  pillows  and 
the  covering  about  him.  "  They  have  been 
starving  me  on  some  horrible  stuff  that  they 
call — I  don't  know  what,  and  I  want  some- 
thing this  minute  that  will  satisfy  the 
cravings  of  a  half-famished  man.  Please, 
nurse,  let  it  be  something  very  nice,  and  a  great 
deal  of  it.  Otherwise,  I  shall  be  tempted  to  eat 
-you  !" 

She  smiled  down  upon  him  as  though  she 
thoroughly  comprehended  the  state  of  his  appe- 
tite, and,  crossing  the  room,  tapped  lightly  upon 
the  door  leading  into  the  adjoining  room. 

Hastings  immediately  appeared  in  the  open 
doorway,  and,  after  a  few  words  with  the 
woman,  he  entered  and  took  her  place  beside 
the  bed,  while  she  passed  out,  leaving  the  door 
between  the  rooms  still  ajar. 

Doctor  Grah'am  was  lying  upon  a  couch  in 
this  inner  room.  He  had  been  up  all  the  night 
before,  watching  with  Price,  and  was  resting 
during  his  patient's  sleep,  in  the  care  of  the 
nurse.  But  he  was  a  light  sleeper,  and  heard 


Drama  of  a  Life.  167 

the  few  low  words  between  the  woman  and 
Hastings,  and  joined  the  latter  at  the  bedside,  a 
moment  later.  He  felt  convinced  that  he  might 
safely  leave  this  young  man  in  the  charge  of  this 
quiet,  elderly  woman  and  resume  his  other 
duties,  but  he  wished  to  tell  Price  himself  that 
the  woman  was  reliable,  and  he  would  do  well 
to  obey  her  implicitly. 

"  Well,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  genially,  laying 
his  hand  over  Price's  hand  upon  the  coverlet,  to 
catch  the  beat  of  the  pulse  in  the  wrist,  "  I  con- 
gratulate you  upon  your  improved  appearance. 
And  your  appetite,  too,"  he  added,  laughing. 
"I  know  that  you  are  hungry,  because  Mrs. 
Carmichael  has  gone  to  prepare  your  luncheon. 
That  is  the  best  sign  there  could  be,  and  nothing 
pleases  me  more." 

Price  smiled  indolently.  He  felt  exceedingly 
at  peace  with  the  world  as  he  looked  up  to  these 
two  friends,  from  among  his  pillows.  Bachel- 
ors' Beatitude  was  well  named,  he  informed 
himself,  recalling  the  joke  that  led  to  its  desig- 
nation. 


1 68  Lida   Campbell,  or 

"  And  this  Mrs.  Carmichael,  Graham  ?  She  is 
a  nurse,  I  know.  Where,  in  the  name  of  peace 
and  quiet,  did  you  discover  her?  She  should 
prove  a  priceless  jewel  to  you  in  reference  to 
refractory  patients.  When  I  wakened  I  was 
hungry  enough  to  eat  nails  and  cobble-stones 
but  1  couldn't  be  savage  with  her.  When  I  first 
saw  her  I  thought  that  she  floated  in  through 
the  window  with  the  winds  from  the  garden — 
like  fairies,  you  know." 

His  friends  laughed.  This  show  of  his  old 
spirits  proved  that  he  was  indeed  improving. 

"  Mrs.  Carmichael  is  your  nurse,  Price," 
Graham  answered,  still  laughing.  "  You  will 
find  that  she  will  take  the  best  care  of  you. 
She  will,  however,  enforce  one  command  of 
mine,  and  you  may  as  well  begin  now  to  obey. 
You  are  not  yet  strong  enough  for  much  con- 
versation ,  quiet  and  rest  are  what  you  need. 
That,  with  proper  care  and  food,  will  bring  you 
around  all  right  in  a  couple  of  weeks  or  so." 

"Yes,"  added  Hastings;  "and  if  you  will  not 
follow  orders  on  your  own  account,  Price,  you 


Drama  of  a  Life.  169 

must  do  so  for  the  sake  of  us  fellows.  We  are 
forlorn  and  don't  know  what  to  do  without  you. 
Every  one  of  us  would  go  away  to  one  of  the 
hotels,  but  Jack  thought  it  as  well  for  us  to 
remain  and  give  you  an  incentive  for  regaining 
your  health.  But  I  can  tell  you  that  we  won't 
do  it  unless  you  hurry  and  get  well." 

"  Well ! "  said  Price,  half  irritably,  half  laugh- 
ing, already  comprehending  that  the  physician 
was  right  as  to  his  weakness  and  inability  to 
converse  or  make  any  effort.  "  One  might  think 
me  a  baby  with  the  measles  or  scarlet-fever,  the 
way  you  talk,  Tom.  All  that  I  want  is  some- 
thing to  eat,  and  plenty  of  it,  and  I'll  be  on  my 
feet  to-morrow.  You  fellows  shall  not  think  of 
leaving  the  house  unless  it  grows  too  deuced 
dull. " 

"  Well !  "  Doctor  Graham  said.  "  That  de- 
pends greatly  upon  you,  Price.  If  you  will  do 
your  part,  we  will  do  ours.  I  haven't  more  time 
now  to  explain  my  meaning,  but  everything — 
now  —  depends  upon  yourself.  Here  is  Mrs. 
Carmichaei  and  your  luncheon  ;  so  eat  and  be 


1 70  Lida  Campbell,  or 

happy.  I  have  to  return  to  my  office  no\v,  but 
feel  perfectly  satisfied  to  leave  you  in  Mrs. 
Carmichael's  hands.  She  will  take  the  very 
best  care  of  you,  and  you  must  safely  trust  her.  I 
have  proved  her  abilities,  I  assure  you.  To. 
night  I  will  come  back  and  stay  with  you.  To. 
morrow  I  think  that  you  will  be  sufficiently 
recovered  to  have  one  or  another  of  the  fellows 
with  you  through  the  day ;  at  night  Mrs. 
Carmichael  will  attend  you." 

"And  Conyers?"  queried  Price,  a  sudden 
frown  darkening  his  brow. 

Doctor  Graham  was  quite  unmoved.  He 
paused  in  the  doorway,  smiling  back  at  the 
rather  disagreeable  young  man  upon  the  pillows 
in  his  momentary  state  of  wrath  concerning  his 
valet. 

"  You  ought  not  to  question  in  relation  to 
Conyers  when  you  have  Mrs.  Carmichael  to 
attend  you,"  said  the  physician,  coolly.  "  Mrs. 
Carmichaei  has  my  full  instructions,  and  I  place 
entire  authority  in  her  hands.  Her  '  no  '  means 
no,  so  you  need  not  attempt  to  argue  it  down  • 


Drama  of  a  Life.  171 

but  she  will  not  be  hard  with  you  unless  you  are 
unreasonable  in  your  demands,  such  as  dressing 
and  going  down  to  dinner,  for  instance.  To- 
morrow, if  you  obey  well  to-day,  I  think  that  we 
will  allow  you  to  leave  your  bed  for  a  while, 
though  I  wish  you  to»  remain  the  invalid  for 
some  time  to  come.  Good-bye,  my  dear  fellow, 
and  eat  all  that  Mrs.  Carmichael  will  allow." 
And  with  a  smiling  bow  that  included  them  all, 
lingering  perhaps  a  trifle  longest  on  the  gentle 
nurse,  Doctor  Graham  closed  the  door  behind 
him  with  unmistakable  satisfaction. 

"  Now  1  can  attend  to  my  business,"  he  said  as 
he  descended  the  staircase,  "  without  endanger- 
ing his  life.  I  do  not  know  exactly  why  I  should 
so  trust  that  woman  ;  she  certainly  brought  a 
perfect  introduction  from  Doctor  Oldham,  but 
apart  from  that  I  feel  as  though  all  this  anxiety 
were  ended  in  her.  If  a  women  told  me  this  as 
her  belief  I  should  undoubtedly  diagnose  it  a 
case  of  whim  ;  as  it  happens  to  be  myself,  as  a 
man,  I  must  leave  it  to  science  to  solve." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Hastings,"  said  Mrs.  Carmichael, 


172  Lida  Campbell,  or 

when  the  doctor  was  gone,  as  she  daintily 
arranged  the  tray  upon  a  stand  at  the  bedside, 
"  we  must  order  you  out  to  .breathe  this  delight- 
ful air.  The  piazza,  even  in  this  sunshine,  is 
perfect  in  the  cool  vine  shado\us,  for  a  cigar  and 
the  news.  We  cannot,  agree  to  have  you  ill 
also." 

"  You  would  certainly  never  wish  him  to  be 
ill,  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  said  Price,  watching  her 
movements  with  hungry  eyes,  wondering  when 
she  would  allow  him  to  begin  on  the  tempting 
dishes  before  him.  "  Even  you  could  not  endure 
to  nurse  him.  It  there  was  ever  a  two-legged 
bear,  it  is  Tom  Hastings  when  he  is  ill.  /  am 
bad  enough,  but  nothing  compared  to  him,  I 
assure  you." 

"  If  he  is  not  much  worse  than  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Carmichael,  quietly  assisting  her  patient  to  a 
reclining  position  among  the  pillows,  just  so  that 
his  hand  was  within  easy  reach  of  the  tray,  "  I 
think  that  I  could  endure  him  nicely,  Mr.  Price. 
But  you  have  been  very  faithful  to  your  friend 
Mr.  Hastings,"  she  added,  seating  herself  in  a 


Drama  of  a  Life.  173 

chair  at  the  bedside,  to  be  near  the  patient 
should  he  require  her  assistance,  as  though  she 
were  never  in  a  hurry,  Tom  thought,  watching 
her.  "  You  should  go  out  when  you  can. 
Besides,  perhaps  Mr.  Price's  other  friends  are 
waiting  to  learn  that  he  is  improving  " 

"  Like  a  good  colonel  I  obey  the  orders  of  my 
superior  officer,"  Hastings  said,  turning  away 
good-naturedly.  Hastings  generally  was  good- 
natured. 

"  There's  a  good  sound  kernel  of  truth  in  that, 
Tom,"  retorted  Price,  eating  his  luncheon  with 
evident  relish,  although  he  was  still  too  weak  to 
make  much  effort  without  assistance. 

Hastings  laughed. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  it  would  be  well  to 
order  silence  for  him  after  that,  Mrs.  Car- 
michael?"  he  queried,  quickly  closing  the  door 
that  there  should  be  no  reply,  as  he  passed 
out. 

"  He's  one  of  the  best  fellows  going,"  Price 
remarked,  as  Hastings'  soft  whistle  died  away 
down  the  stairs. 


174  Lida  Campbell,  or 

Mrs.  Carmichael  smiled  brightly,  a  glimmer 
in  her  dark  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Hastings  has  certainly  been  very  kind 
to  you,"  she  said,  quietly  ;  but  her  tone  expressed 
much  more  than  her  words. 

.Everything  about  Mrs.  Carmichael  was  quiet 
and  soothing.  Her  soft  gray  dress,  her  beauti" 
ful  white  hair,  her  gentle  face  and  manner,  were 
the  essence  of  peace.  Her  manner  of  hushed 
life  suggested  that  peace  had  come  only  after 
pain ;  Price  rather  thought  that  this  was  true ; 
but,  come  from  whatever  cause,  it  was  delight- 
ful to  her  patient. 

Bachelors'  Beatitude  had  for  so  long  existed 
without  the  softer  element  of  womanhood,  save 
the  housekeeper  and  maids,  with  an  occasional 
visit  from  Mrs.  Estabrook,  Lee's  aunt,  that  this 
woman's  presence  seemed  to  the  young  man  like 
a  return  to  his  boyhood  and  the  care  of  a  gentle- 
woman with  silvery  hair  and  a  pretty  voice  and 
soft  hands. 

"  Do  you  know" — Price  suddenly  opened  his 
eyes  after  a  long  interval,  during  which  he  had 


Drama  of  a  Life.  i  75 

been  lying  comfortably  back  with  closed  eyes 
while  Mrs.  Carmichael  read  aloud  the  daily 
news  to  him — "  do  you  know,  Mrs.  Carmichael, 
it  is  almost  worth  being  ill  to  have  your  care.  I 
feel  just  as  though  " — a  slight  hesitation  in  his 
voice — "  as  though  my  mother  had  come  back 
to  me  and — cared  for  me." 

For  an  instant  the  dark  eyes  flashed  and  dark- 
ened, the  lips  contracted,  the  paper  rustled  in 
her  white  hands.  Then  the  old  perfect  calm 
returned,  as  the  nurse  answered  : 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Price,  and  anything 
that  I  can  do  to  make  you  more  comfortable  or 
happy,  I  trust  you  will  let  me  know.  Still  I 
must  enforce  quiet  upon  you  for  this  afternoon. 
Those  are  your  doctor's  orders,  remember  ;  and 
to  be  safe,  one  must  obey  orders." 

"  Especially  of  such  a  gentle  nurse  !"  added 
Price,  smiling. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A   CONSULTATION. 

The  noble  viver  widens  as  we  drift, 

And  the  deep  waters  more  than  brackish  grow  ; 

We  note  the  sea-birds  flying  to  and  fro, 

And  feel  the  ocean  currents  plainly  lift 

Our  bark,  and  yet  our  course  we  would  not  shift ; 

These  are  but  signs  by  which  the  boatmen  know 

They're  drawing  near  the  port  to  which  they  go. 

C.  P.  R. 

On  going  down-stairs  after  leaving  Price's 
room,  Hastings  was  considerably  surprised  to 
find  a  note  waiting  him  from  Doctor  Graham. 
Some  of  the  guests  at  Bachelors'  Beatitude 
said  that  Hastings  and  Graham  were  entirely  too 
"  chummy  "  during  this  illness  of  their  host,  but 
then,  they  only  said  this  when  they  were  in  a  bad 

temper;  and  Hastings  cheerfully  affirmed  that, 
[176] 


Drama  of  a  Life.  177 

if  any  amount  of  "  chumming  "  could  cure  Price, 
he  was  not  afraid  of  the  accusation. 

Newton  and  Burnside  were  making  themselves 
as  comfortable  as  circumstances  would  permit 
with  cigars  and  the  news,  in  the  shade  of  the 
piazza,  as  Hastings  passed  through  the  hall  and 
joined  them.  Newton  flicked  the  trail  of  vine 
just  above  his  head  with  the  letter  he  held,  eyeing 
the  newcomer  with  mock  amazement ;  then  he 
handed  Hastings  the  missive  hastily  written  on 
a  page  torn  from  the  doctor's  note-book. 

"  Read  it  quickly,  Mr.  Nurse,"  he  said  lazily, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "  and  then  hie  you 
away  to  fulfill  its  commands." 

"  How  is  Price,  Tom  ?"  asked  Burnside,  with  a 
silencing  side-glance  at  Newton.  "  When  are 
the  rest  of  his  guests  to  be  allowed  to  see  him  ? 
I,  for  one,  should  rather  like  it." 

"You  mustn't  ask  questions,  little  boy," 
reproved  the  irrepressible  Newton,  with  a  grave 
shake  of  his  head.  "  Its  nursie  won't  allow  that. 
Its  nursie  keeps  its  little  mouth  shut,  and  won't 
even  tell  whether  it's  Boo  or  Boogaboo  upstairs." 


1 78  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  Don't  be  ridiculous,  Ned .!"  retorted  Hastings, 
shortly.  He  was  exceedingly  annoyed  by  the 
contents  of  the  doctor's  crisp  note  and  was  in 
no  joking  humor.  "  Price  is  much  better. 
Graham  promises  him  liberty  to  leave  his  bed 
to-morrow,  I  believe,  when  all  of  us  can  go  up 
and  sit  with  him  if  we  want  to,  on  a  sort  of 
installment  plan,  one  or  two  at  a  time.  But 
just  at  present  I  have  to  go  uptown  in  this  bak- 
ing heat,  when  1  expected  to  have  a  chance  at  a 
cigar  and  the  news." 

"  That  comes  of  being  the  doctor's  pet,"  said 
Newton,  in  well-simulated  condolence.  "  You 
mustn't  mind,  Tom.  The  piper  has  to  be  paid, 
you  know." 

Hastings  turned  impatiently  away  without 
replying,  with  a  frown  upon  his  face.  The  note 
he  held  was  remarkably  concise  but  imperative, 
in  which  Tom  Hastings  was  requested  to  be  at 
Doctor  Graham's  residence  as  soon  as  he  could 
make  it  convenient — immediately,  if  possible — 
and  was  signed  with  the  familiar  heavy  scrawl 
of  Jack  Graham. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  1 79 

That  it  related  to  Price,  Hastings  did  not 
doubt,  and  therefore  prepared  at  once  to  obey 
the  summons,  regardless  of  Newton's  taunts  and 
in  spite  of  the  mid  day  heat.  He  could  take  his 
own  time  about  returning,  and  he  was  too 
intensely  interested  in  this  peculiar  case  to 
delay.  So  he  went  to  the  stables  and  ordered 
one  of  the  horses  saddled,  for  Price's  guests  had 
perfect  freedom  regarding  his  possessions,  and 
rode  away  directly  from  the  stables,  not  wishing 
to  be  further  questioned  by  those  upon  the 
piazza. 

"  Mrs.  Estabrook  is  the  only  one  who  gives  a 
fellow  credit  for  pure  motives  in  this,"  Hastings 
muttered,  as  he  mounted  Black  Jess  and  rode 
away  at  an  easy  gallop.  "  I'm  sure  I  wish  to 
the  deuce  there  were  no  need  of  secrecy  or 
'  chumming,'  but  so  long  as  there  is  need,  I 
rather  think  Graham  can  count  on  me  to  help 
pull  Price  through.  He  has  a  mighty  good 
nurse,  that's  certain.  If  she  were  some  twenty 
years  younger,  now,  there  might  be  danger  of 


180  Lida  Campbell,  or 

one  or  other  of  the  fellows  falling  in  love ;  but 
as  it  is — " 

He  laughed,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and 
urged  Jess  to  her  mettle,  dashing  along  th6 
wide  road  at  an  exhilarating  pace,  his  spirits 
mounting  with  the  exercise. 

"  There's  nothing  will  chase  away  the  blues  so 
soon  as  a  run  like  this,"  he  said,  riding  in  through 
the  gateway  at  Doctor  Graham's  residence. 
"  I'll  put  you  in  the  stables,  my  pretty  maid  ;  the 
hitching-post  outside  isn't  quite  suited  to  your 
aristocratic  blood,  and  1  shall  feel  safer  to  know 
that  you  are  in  here." 

Jeffreys,  Graham's  man,  led  the  mare  away  as 
Hastings  turned  toward  the  house  in  much  bet- 
ter spirits  than  when  he  rode  out  of  the  great 
gateway  at  Bachelors'  Beatitude  not  long 
before. 

"You  see  I  was  prompt,  Jack,"  he  said  to 
Graham,  as  he  entered  the  office.  "  From  your 
note  I  rather  considered  that  promptness  \vas 
the  order  of  the  day.  What's  up  now,  if  I  may 


Drama  of  a  Life.  181 

inquire?  It  must  be  confounded  queer  to  get 
ahead  of  what  has  already  happened." 

Graham  met  his  eyes  keenly,  and  the  jesting 
dietl  from  Hastings'  manner. 

"  It  is  queer,"  he  said,  quietly,  as  they  seated 
themselves,  the  physician  at  his  desk,  his  friend 
in  a  chair  facing  him,  one  leg  thrown  lightly 
over  the  other  and  his  hands  clasped  around  his 
knees.  "  It  is  not  only  queer,"  he  continued, 
with  slow  emphasis,  "but  if  I  were  used  to 
employing  strong  language,  I  should  say  that  it 
is  devilish  queer,  Tom.  Look  here !  You 
came  to  me  when  you  were  rather  rattled  about 
this  case  of  Price's,  and  now  I  send  for  you  to 
give  you  confidential  advice  and  information. 
You  will  be  surprised.  I  warn  you  of  that 
beforehand.  Now  listen." 

He  leaned  forward,  facing  Hastings  earnestly, 
and  the  latter  was  more  impressed  by  his  man- 
ner than  by  his  words. 

"  Up  to  this  time,  Tom,  we  have  Ipeen  working 
to  discover  the  cause  of  Price's  illness — the  active 
agent  in  these  remarkable  attacks.  We  know 


1 82  Li  da   Campbell,  or 

the  effects  pretty  thoroughly,  and  so  make  our 
own  deductions  and  draw  consequent  conclu- 
sions. We  have  taken  the  utmost  care  and  still 
have  been  thwarted  in  gaining  proofs  to  justify 
our  claims.  We  are  now,  I  think,  on  a  fair  road 
to  making  a  discovery." 

"  How  ?"  queried  Hastings,  with  pardonable 
curiosity,  as  the  doctor  paused.  "  I'm  sure  we 
have  worked  like  dogs  to  discover  this,  and  to 
me  it  looks  as  black  and  blank  as  ever." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Graham,  coolly.  "  The 
blankness  shall  presently  be  filled.  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  well  to  have  a 
consultation  of  physicians  on  Price's  case;  in 
this  way  we  shall  gain  the  opinion  of  others  upon 
the  malady  and  have  powerful  evidence  when  we 
have  use  for  such.  By  discovering  the  positive 
effects,  we  shall  come  at  the  agent  producing 
them.  When  the  agent  is  discovered,  we  shall 
have  the  word  of  eminent  men  that  such  must 
inevitably  fyave  been  the  cause  of  such  and  such 
symptoms  and  effects.  After  the  consultation  we 


Drama  of  a  Life.  183 

will  set  about  discovering  the  primary  evil,  the 
root  of  the  malady." 

He  paused  again,  and  Hastings  took  up  the 
thread  of  conversation.  Both  men  were  very 
quiet  but  exceedingly  in  earnest. 

"  The  consultation  is  all  very  well,"  he  said, 
"  and  a  good  thing,  but  you  will  never  be  able  to 
convince  Price  of  that.  He  is  a  mighty  queer 
fellow  when  he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  be,  and 
he  generally  does  take  it  into  his  head  to  be 
when  there  is  the  least  hint  of  publicity  concern- 
ing himself.  He's  as  open  as  the  day,  but  he's 
shy,  too,  Jack.  You  will  never  bring  him  around 
to  any  such  agreement." 

Jack  closed  his  lips  with  quiet  determination 
as  he  replied,  undisturbed  and  unconvinced: 

"  When  he  thoroughly  understands  the  matter, 
1  have  enough  confidence  in  him  to  know  that 
no  shyness  on  his  part  will  inconvenience  us  or 
stand  in  the  light  of  larger  science.  I  shall  make 
it  very  clear  to  him.  There  is  too  much  at  stake 
to  delay  longer  than  absolute  necessity  de- 
mands." 


184  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  Look  here,  Jack,"  Hastings  said,  coolly,  and 
his  lips  were  as  determined  as  his  friend's  ; 
"  there  is  more  than  this  behind  your  words,  and 
you  may  as  well  come  to  the  point  without 
further  argument  or  unnecessary  words.  If  you 
make  the  case  no  clearer  to  Price  than  you  have 
to  me,  I  very  much  doubt  your  success.  You 
certainly  did  not  send  for  me  in  this  broiling 
heat  in  that  extremely  commanding  note  to 
argue  about  the  advantage  and  disadvantage  £>f 
a  consultation  of  physicians.  I  have  a  share  of 
common  sense,  though  you  would  disallow  it. 
Come,  now,  tell  it  straight,  and  don't  keep  me  in 
suspense.  I  protest.." 

Graham  smiled  in  an  exasperatingly  superior 
manner,  a  quizzical  light  for  a  moment  in  his 
eyes. 

"Well,  then,"  he  said,  with  a  return  to  his 
former  earnestness;  "there  is  this  much  about 
it,  Tom.  As  I  have  told  you,  I  am  determined 
to  have  positive  proof  of  the  cause  of  this 
malady.  I  have  been  working  my  plans  as 
promptly  and  clearly  as  I  could,  working  as  I 


Drama  of  a  Life.  185 

did  almost  altogether  in  the  dark,  save  as  science 
suggested  a  gleam  of  light.  But  a  gleam  is  not 
sufficient.  I  must  have  broad  light,  Hastings!" 

"  Yes,"  acquiesced  Hastings,  in  grave  atten- 
tion. 

"  Now,  for  the  source  from  which  the  light 
shall  come,"  continued  the  doctor,  impressively. 
"  It  is  perfectly  clear,  easily  traced  and  compre- 
hensive. You  are  acquainted  with  Price's  life 
as.  well — even  better  than  I.  You  know  his 
home  associations,  his  difficult  life  with  his 
parents  and  a  sister  inheriting  to  the  utmost  the 
mother's  good  and  evil.  The  mother  had  a 
temper  that  overbalanced  the  softer  side  of  her 
nature." 

"  She  was  a  very  devil  when  she  wished  to 
be,"  said  Hastings,  interrupting. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  calmly.  "  Well, 
the  daughter  inherited  this  insanity  of  temper 
to  a  greater  degree  than  her  mother.  Also,  she 
must  have  squandered  her  inheritance  through 
this  terrible  tiger  nature  in  her  love  as  in  all 
else.  We  both  are  acquainted  with  the  history 


1 86  Lida   Campbell,  or 

of  her  infatuation  for  this  novelist.  It  is  sad, 
indeed,  but  no  more  than  her  untamed  nature 
tended  to.  She  would  listen  to  nothing  but  her 
own  heart,  and  her  heart  was  black  at  times. 

"  Her  brother,  Lee  Price,  doubted  that  this 
man  ever  attempted  to  win  her  or  gave  her 
more  than  ordinary  friendship,  until  she  dis- 
covered that  she  loved  him,  and  set  about  win- 
ning him.  She  possessed  personal  magnetism 
to  a  remarkable  degree,  and  her  intense  nature 
must  of  necessity  overwhelm  any  weaker  nature 
of  her  will. 

"Well,  there  is  no  use  in  going  over  all  this. 
She  ran  away  with  him  and  squandered  her 
fortune  and  died,  so  far  as  any  one  could  dis- 
cover. Price  certainly  did  his  best  to  learn  the 
truth  and  bring  her  back  to  her  home,  but  to  no 
end.  Then  he  believed  her  dead.  She  is  not 
dead." 

"The  devil!"  exclaimed  Hastings,  blankly. 
He  used  the  expression  merely  as  an  ejaculation, 
not  as  a  noun. 

Graham  laughed  involuntarily. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  187 

"  It  is  the  devil  in  every  sense,"  he  replied. 
•'  She  is  a  devil,  and  there's  the  devil  to  pay  as 
well.  1  haven't  told  you  all." 

"  No,"  said  Hastings,  more  quietly.  "  I  don't 
pretend  to  think  that  you  have,  Jack." 

"  She  is  alive  at  this  moment,"  continued  Gra- 
ham— "  that  is,  so  far  as  I  know  to  the  contrary. 
Now  then  !  Some  five  months  ago,  she  was  in 
New  York  city,  poor,  deserted  by  her  lover  or 
deserting  him — no  one  save  themselves  can 
positively  affirm  which,  and  her  nature  leaves  it 
open  to  question — and  in  such  a  condition  from 
her  temper,  and  '  personal  magnetism,'  and  half 
insanity  of  love  and  hate,  that  she  claims  to 
possess  this  strange  hypnotic  power,  and 
behaved  altogether  like  a  mad  woman." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  Hastings  corroborated. 

"  In  this  condition,"  continued  Graham, 
slowly,  "  she  is  not  responsible  for  her  words  or 
actions.  She  claims  that  she  is,  excepting  so  far 
as  an  earthly  spirit  is  free  when  guided  by  some 
spirit  from  some  other  world.  Now  that's  all 
simple  bosh,  my  dear  Hastings.  The  woman  is 


1 88  Lida  Campbell,  or 

as  thoroughly  insane  as  any  inmate  of  any  asylum 
in  the  country." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Hastings;  "I  always  thought 
that  she  would  be,  Jack." 

"  She  is"  said  Jack,  positively.  "  I  intend  to 
prove  it.  I  can  prove  it." 

"  But  what  has  this  to  do  with  solving  the 
cause  of  Price's  illness?"  queried  Hastings, 
suddenly  turning  the  conversation  back  to  its 
original  channel.  "  It's  all  very  interesting, 
especially  to  you,  man  of  science,  to  trace  out 
the  future  of  certain  natures,  given  certain 
characteristics,  but  to  me  common-place  fact  is 
much  more  exciting." 

"  This  has  everything  to  do  with  our  case," 
was  Doctor  Graham's  cool  reply.  "  This 
woman  affirms  that  her  brother  used  undue 
influence  to  gain  her  disinheritance,  and  that  her 
brother  should  also  answer  for  the  death  of  their 
father  in  order  to  possess  his  wealth.  Those 
who  do  not  know  Price  and  who  do  not  know 
that  she  had  and  squandered  her  fortune,  believe 


Drama  of  a  Life.  189 

this  story.  As  to  her  accusation  against  Price, 
none  but  a  mad  person  would  make  the  charge. 

"  Now,  Tom  Hastings,  are  your  mental  eyes 
clear  enough  to  see  the  meaning  of  all  this? 
Either — I  will  put  it  plainly  to  you — either  this 
tiger- woman  intends  to  get  her  brother's  wealth 
in  some  desperate  manner — for  he  has  made  no 
will  and  his  fortune  would  revert  to  her  at  his 
death,  or — and  here  is  the  hard  point — Price 
himself  inherited  this  peculiar  half-taint  of 
insanity  to  such  an  extent  as  to  use  a  deadly 
drug  to  excess  instead  of  merely  intoxication. 
This  is  what  we  have  to  prove." 

"  Prove,  Jack  ?"  cried  Hastings,  excitedly, 
leaning  nearer  his  friend ;  "  how  under  the 
canopy  are  you  going  to  prove  it?" 

"  Through  a  woman,  Tom." 

'•'  What  woman  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Carmichael !" 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

VIGILANT. 

Yet,  I  doubt  not  through  the  ages  one  increasing  pur_ 

pose  runs, 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with  the  process 

of  the  suns. 

LOCKSLEY  HALL. 

For  a  full  minute  Tom  Hastings'  eyes  rested 
upon  the  quiet  eyes  of  Doctor  Graham.  The 
eyes  of  each  betrayed  most  perfect  comprehen- 
sion of  much  that  was  left  unsaid. 

"  Look  here,  Jack,"  Hastings  said,  presently  ; 
"  this  is  a  mighty  crooked  sort  of  business,  any- 
way, it  seems  to  me." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Graham,  calmly. 

"  And  it's  going  to  take  more  than  merely  a 

woman  to  fathom." 
[190] 


Drama  of  a  Life.  191 

"  You  think  so,  Tom  ?"  queried  Graham, 
coolly,  rather  indifferently. 

"  I  know  so,"  retorted  Tom,  with  supreme  con- 
viction. "  Mrs.  Carmichael  may  be  an  excellent 
nurse — ' 

"  She  is,"  interrupted  the  doctor,  without  a 
shadow  of  haste,  yet  with  the  same  supreme 
conviction. 

"  And,  of  course,  nurses  are  important  factors 
in  a  sick-room,"  added  Tom,  emphatically. 

"  Yes,"  Graham  again  supplemented. 

"  But  when  it  comes  down  to  detective  work 
and  that,  you  know— 

"  Yes,"  said  Graham,  quietly,  "  I  do  know, 
Tom  ;  and  I  also  know  that  there  is  no  reason 
why  such  work  should  not  safely  be  intrusted  to 
merely  a  woman,  as  you  so  scornfully  suggest. 
The  instinct,  the  tact,  quick  wit — whatever  you 
call  it — that  places  a  woman  on  guard  at  a  word 
or  expression  or  movement,  sets  her  far 
ahead  of  a  man  for  fine  watching  work,  and  there 
is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  employ  such — if 
it  were  needed." 


1 92  Lida  Campbell,  or 

For  an  instant  Hastings  was  nonplussed.  His 
face  fell. 

"  1  thought  you  said  plainly  enough  that  it  is 
to  the  nurse  we  are  to  look  for  full  proofs  of 
this  case,  Graham,"  he  said,  in  some  indignation. 

"  Well,"  replied  Graham,  a  sudden  contrac- 
tion in  his  eyes,  a  slight  movement  of  his  slim, 
muscular  hands,  as  of  remonstrance,  "and  what 
then,  Tom  ?  I  trust  Mrs.  Carmichael  is  able  to 
perform  any  duties  required  of  her.  What 
these  duties  are,  only  time  will  show." 

"  And  I  think  that  it  is  decidedly  disloyal," 
Hastings  added  in  a  heat,  "  to  insinuate  that 
Price  uses  any  sort  of  drug  of  his  own  free  will. 
It  isn't  like  him." 

"  I  am  also  his  physician,  Tom,"  Graham 
answered,  steadily.  "  I  must  solve  this  problem 
which  may  end  disastrously.  If  he  takes  the 
stuff  at  his  own  volition,  that  is  one  thing ;  if  it 
is  administered  to  him,  that  is  quite  another." 

"  Quite,"  agreed  Hastings,  sententiously. 

"  Consequently,  it  is  this  that  we  must  prove, 
Tom,"  said  the  doctor,  as  Hastings  rose  and 


Drama  of  a  Life.  193 

took  up  his  hat,  which  he  had  tossed  upon  a 
chair  on  his  entrance,  and  stood  uncertainly 
twirling  it  round  and  round  upon  one  hand. 

"  Of  course,  you  have  no  doubt  of  succeeding, 
Graham,"  he  said,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  Hav- 
ing such  intense  faith  in  this  woman,  you  leave 
the  thing  entirely  in  her  hands !" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Doctor  Graham,  smiling,  and 
he  laid  one  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder,  his 
eyes  upon  the  disquieted  face,  "  1  Jiave  faith  in 
the  nurse,  Tom — perfect  faith  ;  but  I  expect  you 
to  look  out  for  the  poor  fellow,  too.  I  leave  a 
great  deal  in  the  hands  of  the  nurse  in  order  not 
to  waken  Price's  suspicions  too  much  ;  but,  of 
course,  we  shall  need  your  co-operation.  I  am 
sure  that  we  can  depend  upon  you." 

Hastings'  face  lightened  more  and  more  at 
his  words.  When  he  finished,  he  shook  his  hold 
from  his  shoulder,  grasping  his  hand  instead, 
for  Tom  Hastings  possessed  a  warm,  generous 
heart. 

"  All  right,  Jack,"  he  said  ;  "  you  may  count 
upon  me  for  anything.  We'll  adopt  '  Vigilance  ' 


Lida  Campbell,  or 


for  our  motto  and  wait.  Something  is  sure  to 
come." 

Graham  laughed.  He  thoroughly  understood 
his  friend. 

"  That's  well,  Tom,"  he  replied.  "  We  will 
see  it  through,  and  safely  through,  if  we  can." 

And  these  last  words  lingered  longest  in  Tom 
Hastings'  memory  as  he  left  the  doctor's  office. 

"  But,  after  all,  Graham  is  one  of  the  best 
fellows,"  he  assured  himself,  as  he  rode  out  of 
the  gateway  and  turned  the  mare's  head  toward 
home.  "  I  didn't  just  like  to  ask  him  how  he 
found  out  all  this,  but  I  would  give  a  good  deal 
to  know.  Some  queer  work  in  that,  too  —  of 
course,  connected  with  the  nurse  —  and  1  pre- 
sume that  we  shall  be  enlightened  when  the 
time  arrives." 

Such  was  undoubtedly  the  case,  but  occasion- 
ally the  time  is  long  in  arriving.  Doctor  Graham 
remained  with  the  patient  that  night,  and  Mrs. 
Carmichael,  the  nurse,  slept  in  the  room  adjoin- 
ing, where  she  could  be  readily  called  if  there 
were  need  of  her  services. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  195 

The  following-  day  the  patient  was  allowed  to 
dress  and  occupy  the  lounging-chair  at  one  of 
the  windows.  It  was  astonishing  how  much  he 
had  improved  in  appearances  within  the  last 
twenty-four  hours ;  but  his  physician  refused  to 
allow  exertion  or  removal  from  the  room. 

Two  physicians  —  one  from  New  York,  the 
other  from  the  town,  both  men  who  stood  high 
in  their  profession — were  called  in  consultation 
with  Doctor  Graham  regarding  Lee  Price's 
strange  malady.  Graham  used  his  utmost 
persuasion  to  this  end,  for  Price  resolutely 
refused  at  first  to  listen  to  any  such  absurd 
proposition ;  but  Doctor  Graham  possessed 
remarkable  persuasive  powers,  and  this  patient 
yielded  to  his  wish,  as  his  patients  generally 
did  do. 

Doctor  Wright,  the  physician  from  the  city, 
was  met  by  Doctor  Graham  in  his  carriage,  and 
they  drove  together  to  Bachelors'  Beatitude,  on 
the  morning  of  the  second  day. 

Farwell,  the  physician  from  the  town,  met 
them  at  the,  house,  and  the  matter  was  arranged 


196  Lida  Campbell,  or 

so  quietly  that  no  one,  save  the  nurse  and  Hast- 
ings, knew  for  what  the  men  had  come. 

"  Graham  has  such  a  big  practice,  I  suppose 
he's  going  to  turn  a  part  of  it  over  to  Farwell," 
suggested  Morgan,  sarcastically,  as  he  and 
Newton  and  Mayhew  were  discussing  the 
visitors  as  they  strolled  about  the  stables  and 
kennels. 

Burnside  was  exercising  in  a  shell  on  the  river, 
and  Curtis  was  employed  with  his  canvas. 

"  I  should  think  that  he  would  pass  it  on  to 
Hutchinson  instead,  though.  It  isn't  just  fair  to 
his  associate,  in  my  opinion,"  he  added. 

What  passed  beyond  the  closed  doors  of  the 
sick-room  was  as  inscrutable  to  all,  save  those 
assembled  there,  as  were  .  the  mysteries  of  a 
secret  chamber. 

For  two  hours  they  were  close  shut  in  that 
room.  It  was  a  difficult  case  to  diagnose,  and 
yet  to  the  three  physicians  there  was  but  one 
conclusion  that  could  be  proved  correct  only  by 
patient  waiting.  Price  insisted  upon  knowing 
their  opinion,  but  they  allowed  him  meager 


Drama  of  a  Life.  197 

information,  as  silence,  they  agreed,  was  best 
until  such  time  as  it  was  deemed  prudent  or 
well  to  break  it.  Even  the  instructions  for  the 
nurse  were  of  the  simplest. 

"  Plenty  of  air,  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  Graham 
said,  calling  her  into  the  inner  room  as  the  other 
physicians  were  talking  with  Price.  "  Let  his 
guests  come  in,  and  such  other  friends  as  you 
think  wise  to  admit — I  trust  you  for  that — but  of 
the  household  itself  admit  none — not  even  Mrs. 
Leonard.  Mrs.  Estabrook  may  sit  with  him  at 
times,  but  only  when  there  are  others  present. 
This  will  relieve  you  through  the  day,  but  the 
night-watch  will  devolve  entirely  upon  you. 
Besides  this,  I  trust  to  you  to  prepare  and  serve 
his  meals.  Don't  let  him  go  outside  the  room 
until  I  say  for  you  to  do  so,  and  keep  him  in  this 
manner  as  long  as  is  necessary.  You  compre- 
hend ?  Remember  the  importance  of  such 
details  as  I  gave  you  yesterday.  If  you  need 
me,  send  for  me  ;  otherwise  I  shall  call  once 
every  day.  I  trust  you  implicitly,  and  I  shall 
leave  much  to  you." 


198  Lida  Campbell,  or 

Doctor  Graham's  smile,  when  he  chose,  was 
most  winning  and  pleasant  to  see.  Just  now  he 
evidently  chose  to  win  this  gentle  nurse's  good 
will,  for  his  smile  down  into  the  quiet  face  and 
bright  eyes  was  wonderfully  charming,  and  Mrs. 
Carmichael  involuntarily  smiled  back  as  she  gave 
him  her  assurance  of  faithfulness. 

"  Everything  that  is  possible  for  a  nurse  or  a 
woman  to  do  shall  be  done  in  this  case,  Doctor 
Graham,"  she  said,  in  her  pretty  voice.  The 
light  from  the  high  window  struck  upon  her  hair, 
making  of  it  shimmering  silver  bands  about  her 
gentle  face,  lighted  by  the  brilliant  dark  eyes. 
"  I  fear  that  Mr.  Hastings  thinks  it  is  little  a 
woman  can  do,  but  I  shall  be  like  the  serpent  and 
dove — very  wise  and  very  harmless.  Already  I 
have  learned  something.  My  eyes  are  not  yet 
old  if  my  hair  is  white." 

"What  have  you  discovered?"  queried  Gra- 
ham, a  light  upon  his  face.  The  elderly  nurse 
was  "  merely  a  woman,"  perhaps,  as  Tom  said, 
but  already  she  had  made  use  of  her  position. 
Already  she  had  learned — something. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  199 

Mrs.  Carmichael  smiled.  Mrs.  Carmichael's 
smile,  like  Doctor  Graham's,  was  delightful  at 
times. 

"  It  is  very  little,"  she  said,  "  truly,  doctor. 
Scarcely  worthy  of  expression  to  a  man  who 
desires  strong-  words  and  positive  proofs.  It  did 
no  more  even  with  me  than  to  set  me  thinking — 
of  possibilities." 

"  And  these,  Mrs.  Carmichael  ?" 

"  The  possibilities  of  great  events  evolving 
from  a  glance  from  one  pair  of  eyes  to  another 
and  moving  lips  without  speech  passing  them. 
That  is  all,  doctor.  You  see  how  little  it  is  and 
perhaps  utterly  insignificant." 

She  smiled  once  more,  and  was  turning  away, 
but  he  detained  her,  his  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"  I  think  that  it  may  be  more  than  it  seems, 
Mrs.  Carmichael,"  he  said,  gravely.  He  dis- 
tinctly remembered  such  a  glance  which  he 
witnessed  in  the  adjoining  room.  This  woman's 
perception,  though  merely  a  knowledge  of  the 
trick  of  eyes  and  lips,  might  follow  in  the  train 
of  his  own  thought.  "  Where  and  between 


2OO  Lida  Campbell,  or 

whom  was  this  silent  conversation,  and  what 
were  your  suspicions?" 

"  You  can  scarcely  call  it  suspicion,"  said  Mrs. 
Carmichael,  quietly.  "  I  should  not  call  it  that. 
But  this  morning  as  I  left  Mr.  Price's  room  to 
prepare  his  breakfast,  moving  as  noiselessly  as 
possible,  as  one  should  about  a  house,  from  the 
upper  staircase  I  saw  Emma  and  Conyers  in  the 
lower  hall.  They  were  passing  through  the 
hall,  Emma  to  the  dining-room  and  Conyers  to 
the  stairs.  It  is  very  simple  and  may  mean 
nothing,  but  the  glance  that  passed  between 
them — terrified,  shy,  on  her  part,  and  warning 
upon  his,  her  lips  parting  as  though  she  would 
speak  and  dared  not — that  is  all.  It  may  mean 
nothing.  I  have  watched  them  closely,  and  this 
coincides  with  my  first  impression — and  1  have 
told  you.  You  must  draw  your  own  infer- 
ence." 

Graham's  eyes  were  keenly  bent  upon  hers. 
He  smiled  as  she  paused. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said.      "  You   have  done 


'I  SAW  EMMA  AND  CONYERS  IN  THE  LOWER  HALL."— See  Chapter  XIV. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  201 

well  so  far,  Mrs.  Carmichael.  I  trust  that  you 
will  have  more  to  tell  me  when  next  I  come." 

Graham  passed  into  the  outer  room,  and, 
with  the  other  physicians,  bade  the  patient  good- 
day,  passed  out,  leaving  the  nurse  to  resume  her 
duties  until  after  luncheon,  when  Mayhew  and 
Mrs.  Estabrook  were  allowed  to  go  up  and  sit 
with  their  host  for  a  couple  of  hours.  Burnside 
and  Morgan  were  upon  the  water  and  Curtis 
was  painting,  Newton  somewhere  about  the 
grounds,  and  Hastings  in  his  room. 

The  three  were  quietly  pleased  at  meeting, 
the  guests  mingling  regrets  for  his  illness  and 
good  wishes  for  his  recovery,  and  Price,  laugh- 
ing, assuring  them  that  he  would  be  about  in 
"  no  time  "  under  the  care  of  his  nurse. 

"  Of  course  you  haven't  read  the  latest  novel, 
Lee,"  Mayhew  said,  after  a  long  discussion  of 
the  news  of  the  day  and  when  Mrs.  Estabrook 
had  gone  down  again  to  the  piazza.  He  pulled 
a  paper-covered  novel  from  one  of  his  pockets 
and  ran  over  the  pages,  rustling  them  in  his 
hands. 


2O2  Lida   Campbell,  or 

"  I  suppose  the  M.  D.'s  and  the  nurse  wouldn't 
allow  you  to  excite  yourself  over  novels  or  any- 
thing ;  but  this  is  the  biggest  thing  in  the 
romancing  line  that  you  ever  heard  !  Making 
no  end  of  a  sensation,  too.  I  began  it  last  night 
about  eleven  o'clock  and  sat  up  to  finish  it. 
Simply  couldn't  leave  it,  you  know  !  Fascinat- 
ing is  no  word  for  it !  It's  immense !  Over- 
drawn, no  doubt,  and  set  with  blue  lights  and 
red  twilight  and  that ;  purely  imaginary,  some 
critics  say,  but  it  struck  me  as  being  much  more 
than  that.  Who  is  it  by  ?  Paling,  of  course. 
What  other  writer  of  ours  gives  us  such  amaz- 
ing romances?  And  the  title  itself  is  enough  to 
awaken  one's  curiosity.  Here  it  is,  appropri- 
ately issued  in  gray  covers  with  dashes  of  red 
upon  it!" 

Neither  of  them  knew  that  the  nurse  in  the 
inner  room  upon  the  couch  by  the  window  was 
watching  them  and  listening  intently.  Her  eyes 
were  like  stars  from  under  the  soft  silvery  hair, 
but  her  lips  were  set  like  a  thin  thread  of  red. 
Her  breath  was  coming  and  going  quickly,  too, 


Drama  of  a  Life.  203 

unlike     the     calm,     self-contained,     controlling 
nurse. 

"  The  title  ?"  Mayhew  was  turning  back  to 
the  title-page,  a  laugh  upon  his  lips.  "  It's  an 
amazingly  good  title,  let  me  tell  you,  and  gives 
perfectly  the  contents  of  the  book.  What  could 
be  more  suggestive  of  the  quiet  gray  of  life  with 
the  stains  of  tragedy  upon  it  as  this  cover 
denotes,  than — '  The  Drama  of  a  Life  ?'  " 


CHAPTER   XV. 

A  ROLL  OF  WHEELS. 

Laws  of  changeless  justice  bind 

Oppressor  with  oppressed  ; 
And,  close  as  sin  and  suffering  joined. 

We  march  to  fate  abreast. 

WHITTIER. 

Mrs.  Carmichael  was  remarkably  affected  by 
this  conversation  on  literature,  and  could  not 
compose  herself  to  sleep,  try  as  she  would.  She 
knew  that  she  should  rest  during  the  day,  in 
order  to  be  fit  for  her  night  duties,  but  this  light 
conversation  disturbed  her  to  such  an  extent 


204  Lida  Campbell,  or 

that  she  could  do  nothing  but  lie  among  the 
cushions  and  ponder  upon  it. 

"  I  shall  read  the  book,"  she  said  to  herself, 
resolutely  closing  her  eyes  for  sleep.  "  One 
cannot  justly  judge  of  a  book  from  another's 
criticism.  Besides,  Mr.  Mayhew's  graphic  des- 
cription may  be  overdrawn,  and  I  should  not 
allow  it  to  affect  me.  A  staid  old  woman  like 
myself  should  have  outgrown  excitement  over  a 
novel." 

But  sleep  would  not  come  at  her  command, 
even  if  the  bright  dark  eyes  would  remain 
resolutely  closed  under  white  lids,  and  Mrs. 
Carmichael  learned  for  herself  what  it  is  for  a 
patient  to  suffer  from  insomnia,  in  spite  of  strong 
will  or  strong  potions. 

"  I  shall  send  Jim  for  this  book  to-night,"  she 
said  convincingly.  "  He  will  go  for  me.  Jim 
will  do  anything  for  a  smile  or  a  kind  word. 
Then  no  one  in  the  house  need  know  that  the 
master's  nurse  is  given  to  novel-reading  during 
her  hours  of  duty.  Should  I  ask  Mr.  Mayhew 
to  lend  his  to  me,  he  would,  of  course,  tell  the 


Drama  of  a  Life.  205 

others,  and  Mrs.  Carmichael  might  be  the  sub- 
ject of  unpleasant  surmises.  I  shall  send  Jim. 
Any  book-store  in  town  should  have  such  a 
popular  book." 

And,  with  this  firm  conclusion,  Mrs.  Car- 
michael said  to  herself  that  she  would  sleep,  and 
she  did. 

When  she  awoke,  twilight  was  upon  the  world, 
the  murmur  of  voices  in  the  outer  room  had 
ceased  ;  and  as  she  hurriedly  rose,  going  to  the 
door  between  the  rooms  to  see  that  all  was  well, 
she  found  her  patient  alone  and  quietly  sleeping. 
Noiselessly  crossing  the  room  she  pulled  the 
bell  and  passing  outside  the  door,  waited  in  the 
hall  for  the  answer  to  her  summons. 

Emma  replied  at  once,  as  she  had  orders  to  do 
when  the  bell  in  the  master's  room  should  ring, 
and  Mrs.  Carmichael  requested  her  to  send  Jim 
up  as  soon  as  was  possible. 

Mrs.  Carmichael's  voice  was  at  its  very  softest 
and  prettiest  in  addressing  the  girl,  but  Emma 
kept  her  eyes  in  a  fit  of  shyness  upon  the  floor, 
nervously  fingering  her  apron.  Mrs.  Car- 


206  Lido,  Campbell,  or 

michael's  eyes,  too,  were  very  gentle  but 
exceedingly  bright  resting  upon  the  girl,  and  a 
peculiar  smile  lurked  about  her  lips, 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  Emma  said,  in  reply  to  this 
order  for  Jim  ;  "  I'll  send  him  up  right  away  if  he 
can  come.  He's  pretty  busy  just  now." 

"  Don't  send  him  up  until  he  can  spare  the 
time,"  said  Mrs,  Carmichael.  "  I  can  wait." 

"  He'll  come  as  soon  as  he  can,  I  know, 
ma'am,"  replied  the  girl,  turning  away  as  though 
it  were  an  intense  relief  to  get  away  from  this 
quiet  woman's  presence.  "  The  master  is  better 
I  hope,  Mrs.  Carmichael  ?" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Carmichael,  sweetly, 
without  giving  her  the  desired  information 
regarding  the  condition  of  the  master.  "  Don't 
fail  to  send  Jim  as  soon  as  he  can  come,  Emma." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Emma,  as  the  nurse 
re-entered  the  room  to  wait  for  Jim. 

The  boy  came  after  a  few  minutes  and  will- 
ingly undertook  Mrs.  Carmichael's  errand,  and 
as  Mrs.  Carmichael  heard  his  steps  upon  the 
stairs — unmistakably  clumsy  Jim's — she  went 


Drama  of  a  Life.  207 

out  to  meet  him  as  she  met  every  one  who  came 
to  the  room. 

As  he  went  away  after  receiving  the  written 
order  for  the  book  and  the  money  to  pay  for  it, 
1  e  inquired  timidly  as  to  the  master's  health, 
adding  an  awkward  hope  that  he  was  better. 

"  He  is  just  the  same,  Jim,"  Mrs.  Carmichael 
replied,  gently,  admitting  much  more  to  him 
than  to  the  girl. 

As  she  sat  at  the  window  in  the  inner 
room,  from  which  she  could  command  a  view  of 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  bed  in  the  outer 
room,  and  also  a  wide  stretch  of  water  and  a 
sweep  of  the  drive  through  the  trees  and  shrub- 
bery, she  was  arguing  many  things  to  herself, 
and  endeavoring  to  solve  a  most  trying  and 
complex  problem.  She  felt  that  she  possessed 
the  key  to  the  correct  solution,  and  yet,  before 
this  could  be  of  practical  use,  she  must  arrive  at 
some  tangible  truth  that  could  be  used  in  con- 
nection with  the  key. 

The  evening  was  beautiful,  and  Mrs.  Car- 
michael found  much  to  soothe  if  not  to  convince 


208  Lida   Campbell,  or 

her  in  the  quiet  water,  purple-dark  under  the 
heavens,  throbbing  with  living  worlds  of  light, 
and  the  fragrance  of  shrubs  and  roses  and  late 
piazza  vines  stole  subtly  to  her  like  the  odors  of 
a  dream. 

"  Life  isn't  so  bad  after  all,"  she  murmured, 
smiling  to  herself,  "  even  taking  into  account  the 
bitterness  of  its  drama." 

And,  folding  her  hands  in  recovered  calmness, 
she  waited  for  Jim's  return  with  the  novel  she 
Avould  read  that  very  night  while  her  patient 
slept,  and  the  keys  turned  in  the  locks  made 
impossible  any  entrance  into  the  room  save  by 
that  one  door  facing  this  window,  and  full  in  her 
view,  leading  from  the  hall.  This,  by  order  of 
the  physician,  was  never  locked.  Day  and  night 
it  was  free  to  any  one  who  should  wish  to  enter. 
But  few  entered. 

Mrs.  Estabrook,  with  the  guests  of  her 
nephew,  was  upon  the  piazza  just  under  his 
window,  and  the  low  murmur  of  their  conversa- 
tion and  stifled  occasional  laughter  together  with 


Drama  of  a  Life.  209 

the  drift  of  cigar  smoke  floated  brokenly  to  the 
watcher  in  the  silent,  darkened  room. 

The  shaded  light,  set  behind  the  patient's  bed, 
and  beyond  his  sight,  left  still  a  hint  of  soft 
shadow  about  the  room,  save  directly  across 
that  portion  of  the  room  within  range  of  the 
outer  door.  The  inner  room,  where  the  nurse 
was  sitting,  was  entirely  in  shadow. 

It  was  close  upon  nine  o'clock  when  Jim 
returned  from  his  errand,  for  he  had  much  to 
do  upon  the  place  before  he  could  go,  and  as  it 
was  a  long  walk  from  the  town  to  the  island 
estate  of  Bachelors'  Beatitude,  Mrs.  Carmichael 
had  two  hours  to  wait  for  her  novel ;  but  Mrs. 
Carmichael  was  accustomed  to  waiting,  and 
showed  no  trace  of  impatience. 

Price  roused  once  or  twice  during  the  earlier 
part  of  the  night,  and  the  nurse  was  with  him 
immediately;  but  his  exhaustion  was  so  com- 
plete from  the  severity  of  his  illness,  and  the 
physician's  drugs  were  so  potent,  that  he  slept 
much  of  the  time.  As  such  sleep  would  be  well, 
the  physician  had  said,  the  nurse  was  satisfied. 


2io  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"You  are  such  a  delightful  nurse,  Mrs.  Car- 
michael,"  Price  said,  upon  one  of  these  occa- 
sions of  wakefulness.  "  I  do  absolutely  nothing 
because  I  know  that  you  take  such  good  care  of 
me." 

"  As  any  one  should,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  as 
the  nurse  brushed  softly  back  the  dark  hair  from 
his  forehead,  after  smoothing  and  re-arranging 
the  pillows  and  covering  about  him. 

Then,  after  a  few  moments  of  wakeful  silence, 
the  young  man  drifted  back  to  sleep,  and  the 
nurse  returned  to  her  patient  waiting  for  her 
messenger. 

He  came  at  last,  bringing  the  desired  book, 
and  after  thanking  him  for  his  faithfulness  with 
more  than  words  or  smiles,  Mrs.  Carmichael 
arranged  herself  in  a  low,  cushioned  chair  near 
the  light  beyond  the  bed,  yet  still  within  range 
of  that  outer  unlocked  door,  and  opened  the 
book.  Her  position  was  within  view  of  the 
door,  and  such  that  the  outer  scents  and  sounds 
came  to  her  from  that  wide  window  of  her  own 
inner  room. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  2 1 1 

The  novel  was  intensely  interesting.  She  was 
assured  that  such  would  prove  the  case,  know- 
ing the  author's  power  of  description  and  plot 
when  she  ordered  the  book.  The  title  itself 
recommended  it  to  her,  as  Mayhew  stated  was 
the  case  with  all,  and  after  the  first  few  opening 
pages,  it  became  more  than  a  mere  novel,  more 
than  delineation  of  imaginary  character,  much 
more  than  even  she  had  expected. 

One  hour  slipped  by,  ticked  away  by  the  tiny 
hands  of  the  clock  upon  the  mantel.  Another 
hour,  second  by  second,  accumulating  to  min- 
utes, growing  to  the  full  hour,  followed  the  first. 
Silence  was  over  the  house,  over  the  grounds. 
Not  a  sound  stirred  the  outer  stillness,  save  the 
guttural  cry  of  some  uneasy  bird  in  the  trees 
near  the  windows,  or  the  occasional  break  of  a 
longer  wave  upon  the  beach.  No  sound  was  in 
the  sick-room,  save  the  quiet  breathing  of  the 
sleeper  and  the  hushed  rustle  of  paper  as  the 
reader  turned  a  page. 

Mrs.  Carmichael's  face  was  a  study  as  she 
read  the  book.  She  was  a  perfect  reader,  for 


2t2  Lida  Campbell,  or 

every  character  and  every  scene  came  vividly 
before  her  mental  vision  as  though  it  were  life 
spread  before  her  eyes.  So  it  was  that  the 
hours  slipped  by  without  her  notice,  and  no 
subtly  penetrating  outer  sound  of  night  dis- 
turbed her.  Life  itself  was  in  the  pages  of  her 
book,  and  it  was  real  life  to  her. 

But  by  and  by,  as  the  third  hour  was  creep- 
ing away  that  .strange  sense  of  loneliness  and 
solemnity  that  lives  at  midnight,  when  one  is 
the  sole  waking  object  in  a  house,  came  upon 
her  even  in  the  midst  of  this  sensational  romance. 
She  became  uneasy ;  the  book  could  not  hold 
her  attention ;  her  thoughts  would  grow  con- 
fused and  her  perception  somewhat  dull.  The 
book  was  the  height  of  mystery,  and  thrilling 
with  life  and  love ;  but  at  last  it  palled.  She 
laid  it  down  and  glanced  sharply  around  the 
room.  She  had  a  most  uncomfortable  sensation 
as  though  she  was  being  watched  by  some  one 
whom  she  could  not  see. 

Her  patient  was  still  sleeping  quietly.  He,  at 
least,  had  not  been  watching  her.  Save  them- 


Drama  of  a  Life.  213 

selves,  there  was  no  one  in  the  room.  The  door 
leading  to  the  hall  was  closed.  There  was  not  a 
closet  or  wardrobe  in  the  room.  There  was  no 
place  where  an  unseen  watcher  could  be,  except- 
ing upon  the  upper  balcony  outside  the  windows. 

The  curtains  were  drawn,  and  the  night  was 
dark,  for  the  new  moon  had  passed  beyond  the 
horizon  hours  before  ;  but  Mrs.  Carmichael  laid 
aside  her  novel  and  rose,  determined  to  put  an 
end  to  this  uncomfortable  sensation.  There  was 
but  one  way  to  do  this,  and  that  was  to  cross 
the  windows,  directly  in  line  with  the  light  along 
the  floor,  and  investigate  the  dark  bacony. 

She  did  not  increase  the  inner  light,  for  that 
would  probably  waken  her  patient,  but  she  must 
summon  her  nerve  and  go  at  once.  The  book 
had  roused  every  faculty  to  an  intense  degree, 
mystery  and  plotted  murder  were  blended  in  her 
mind  with  that  soft  lace  drapery  at  the  long 
windows  and  the  midnight  hidden  balcony 
beyond.  This  required  more  bravery  than  many 
would  believe,  who  had  passed  through  no  such 
trying  scene. 


214  Lida  Campbell,  or 

Mrs.  Carraichael  was  pale  from  suppressed 
excitement,  but  she  would  not  be  daunted.  If 
anyone  were  watching  her  from  the  night's 
darkness,  she  would  soon  discover.  If  not,  she 
could  laugh  at  her  fears  and  conquer  any  that 
should  rise  during  the  hours  that  must  elapse 
before  dawn  scattered  fancies. 

She  crossed  directly  and  swiftly  to  the  nearest 
window  and  pulled  aside  the  drapery.  A  breath 
of  fuller  air  strong  with  salt  from  the  water,  and 
mingling  with  the  dew-laden  garden  odors, 
struck  upon  her  face  startingly.  The  inner  faint 
light  fell  across  the  balcony.  Nothing  was 
there. 

She  passed  to  the  other  window  with  more 
assurance  now,  half-laughing  at  her  fancy,  and, 
tossing  the  curtains  noiselessly  aside  over  the 
back  of  a  chair,  stepped  boldly  out.  Was  there 
nothing  here? 

She  started  and  caught  at  the  window-casing 
to  steady  herself.  The  rustle  of  soft  garments 
upon  the  balcony  steps  that  led  down  the  lawn. 

The   muffled   tiptoe  of   light  boots   upon   the 


Drama  of  a  Life.  215 

boards  !     Then  perfect  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  croak  of  a  bird  overhead. 

Like  a  statue,  Mrs.  Carmichael  stood  just 
withdrawn  from  the  light  at  one  side  of  the 
window.  Then,  listening  intently,  she  heard  far 
off  toward  the  gateway,  faint  and  scarcely  per- 
ceptible, the  muffled  roll  of  wheels  across  the 
meadow  road  ! 


CHAPTER     XVI. 

A  NOVELIST'S  VISITOR. 

Walker  Paling,  the  popular  novelist,  was 
sitting  at  his  desk.  He  was  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  a  manuscript,  and  was  well  pleased 
with  himself  for  his  work.  He  knew  as  well  as 
his  readers  knew  when  he  had  a  completed  a 
good  work,  and  he  did  not  hypocritically  deny 
his  power  and  claim  for  it  a  lower  standard  than 
he  had  set  in  his  mind. 

Walker  Paling  was  not  by  any  means  a  hand- 


2 1 6  Li  da  Campbell,  or 

some  man.  Sitting  by  his  desk,  with  the  broad 
light  from  the  window  upon  him,  he  would  have 
been  a  very  ordinary  looking-man  but  for  his 
clear  blue  eyes  and  peculiarly  sensitive  mouth 
under  a  drooping  iron-gray  mustache.  As  he 
arranged  the  papers  and  tied  them  up  ready  for 
type-writer  copying,  the  strong  light  and  move- 
ment showed  that  his  hands  were  also  remarka- 
ble for  their  long,  slender  fingers  and  well-devel- 
oped wrist  muscles. 

It  was  early  spring,  and  the  silence  of  the 
room  was  disturbed  by  occasional  street  cries, 
and  the  flurry  of  dust,  as  the  dying  winds  of 
March  scurried  through  the  city,  penetrating 
even  through  closed  windows.  The  rumble  of 
passing  carriages  and  sound  of  countless  foot- 
steps upon  the  pavement  came  up  to  him, 
also. 

His  suite  of  rooms  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel 
proved  that  his  popularity  was  not  solely  fame, 
but  fortune,  also.  Everything  for  comfort  that 
money  could  buy  was  about  him.  He  was 
undoubtedly  a  successful  novelist. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  2 1 7 

When  the  manuscript  was  neatly  arranged  for 
its  further  machine-copying,  Walker  Paling 
summoned  a  messenger  to  carry  it  to  a  type- 
writing office,  and  when  the  boy  was  gone,  Pal- 
ing laid  aside  his  professional  air  of  preoccupa 
tion,  and  passed  into  his  smoking-room  for  a 
cigar  and  a  mental  revision  of  this  work  just 
from  his  hand  and  brain. 

In  his  crimson  dressing-gown  and  slippers, 
and  the  smoking-cap  upon  his  head,  stretched  at 
full  length  in  his  luxurious  lounging-chair,  with 
his  blue  eyes  half  closed,  half  gleaming  through 
clouds  of  pale,  grey  smoke,  he  was  the  picture 
of  ease  and  contentment.  But  Walker  Paling 
was  not  contented. 

He  was  satisfied  with  his  work ;  he  knew  that 
it  was  good  and  would  bring  him  a  fair  share  of 
fame  and  money;  but  by  degrees  his  thoughts 
wandered  from  this.  Six  months  ago — he 
remembered  it  as  though  it  were  but  yesterday 
— a  woman  had  helped  him  with  his  last  pub- 
lished novel.  She  had  not  only  helped  him  as 
any  woman  could  with  careful  criticism  and  the 


218  Lida   Campbell,  or 

manual  work  of  revision,  but  had  gone  beyond 
such  bounds  and  formed  the  plot  and  worked 
out  the  situations  and  fairly  imbued  him  with 
her  thought  and  plans. 

He  knew  that  that  strange  blending  of  thought 
and  plot,  heat  and  cold,  weakness  and  strength 
was  not  one-half  his  own.  The  pages  that  had 
stirred  many  hearts,  that  had  wakened  interest 
and  argument  and  conjecture  regarding  the 
author,  and  that  had  placed  him  in  undisputed 
right  to  the  title  of  the  most  popular  of  writers 
belonged  more  than  half  to  the  strange,  beauti- 
ful, fiery  woman  who  murmured  the  words  in  his 
ear,  who  moved  his  hand  by  her  subtle  power 
of  command,  who  willingly  devoted  many  nights 
of  hard  labor  to  its  perfection. 

A  strange  woman,  a  marvelous  woman,  this 
one,  who  seemed  to  put  her  very  life  and  vitality 
into  the  pages  of  his  romances.  Very  beautiful 
in  form  and  feature ;  charming  in  manner  when 
she  wished  ;  a  demon  of  passion  when  roused  ; 
intense  in  her  love  and  hate.  Gracious,  compel- 
ling admiration  or  repelling,  as  she  would  ;  as 


Drama  of  a  Life.  2 1 9 

fitful  in  mood  as  the  wild  March  winds,  scurry- 
ing through  the  streets  below. 

She  had  unsought,  given  him  her  love  or 
fancy  or  passing  thought ;  as  he  knew  her  better 
he  failed  to  decide  which  it  might  be.  He  did 
not  love  her,  had  never  loved  her,  but  her 
mental  qualities  commanded  his  admiration. 
There  had  been  much  of  mutual  interest  to  talk 
about  and  to  strengthen  fiiendship,  upon  their 
earlier  acquaintance. 

Perhaps  her  broad  ideas  of  life  and  love  were 
rather  startling  to  the  man  used  to  the  quiet 
lives  and  the  one  train  of  ideas  of  conventional 
life,  but  if  so,  the  woman  imbued  him  for  the 
time  with  her  own  fierce  views. 

In  that  way  she  daily  gained  more  power  over 
him  by  this  peculiar  mental  intensity  that  over- 
balanced his,  and  caused  his  individual  thought 
to  become,  in  some  strange  manner,  her  thought. 
So  she  suggested  their  joint  authorship  of  a 
novel  to  go  under  his  name  alone  and  spurred 
him  on  to  the  effort,  the  commencement  and  end 
of  on.e  p(  his  most  powerful  and  most  successful 


22O  Lida  Campbell,  or 

works.  This  established  beyond  doubt  his 
place  among-  popular  novelists  and  brought  him 
plenty  of  wealth. 

Moreover,  this  strange,  fierce,  magnetic  woman 
gave  him  her  heart.  He  had  never  asked  it ; 
he  did  not  desire  it,  for  he  half  feared  her  in  her 
spasmodic  moods  of  tragedy  ;  but,  as  in  all  else, 
her  mental  power  was  superior  or  stronger  than 
his,  and  he  accepted  her  love. 

Her  wealth,  inherited  from  her  parents,  both 
of  whom  were  dead,  far  exceeded  his  own,  and 
this  she  was  reckless  with  after  she  went  away 
with  him.  She  cared  nothing  for  her  home  in 
her  brother's  house ;  she  hated  her  brother  with 
the  intense  unreasoning  hatred  of  her  nature, 
because  he  was  nobler  of  character  than  she  ; 
she  did  not  so  much  love  her  lover  as  she 
delighted  to  know  that  his  will  and  thought 
yielded  to  her  own.  Power  was  an  essential 
element  to  her  life.  With  her  lover  she  employed 
it  successfully  and  well. 

Then  she  tired  of  him.  Her  intense  life, 
made  up  of  thought  and  discussion  of  strange 


Drama  of  a  Life.  221 

problems  that  seemed  born  of  this  very  intensity 
of  thought,  told  upon  her  mind  and  health  after 
a  time.  She  would  sometimes  go  away  by  her- 
self for  days,  and  he  would  not  know  of  her 
whereabouts ;  she  would  leave  quietly  when  he 
was  away  or  asleep,  and  leave  no  trace  of  her 
destination.  No  one  questioned  her  at  such 
times,  for  every  one  feared  as  well  as  admired 
her,  the  successful  novelist's  wife. 

When  she  returned  from  these  strange  absences, 
she  would  be  in  a  condition  of  mental  and  phys- 
ical exhaustion,  that  bordered  closely  upon 
insanity.  He  was  even  at  last  forced  to  obtain 
the  opinion  of  a  physician,  Doctor  Oldham, 
regarding  this  condition.  No  one  knew  oftheir 
peculiar  relations  to  each  other ;  this  savage, 
beautiful  woman  was  the  wife  of  the  novelist 
and  could  go  whither  she  would.  His  name 
carried  her  anywhere,  and  her  wealth  was  inde- 
pendent of  his. 

Paling  believed  that  insanity  was  in  her  blood  ; 
and  felt  growing  fear  of  her  hate  or  revenge 
but  he  went  at  last  to  Doctor  Oldham  for  a 


222  Lida  Campbell,  or 

decision.  Doctor  Oldham  had  known  her  for 
many  years,  and  admired  her  intensely  ;  some 
even  whispered  that  he  more  than  admired  her  ; 
but  if  this  were  true,  she  gave  him  only  her  quiet 
friendship.  And  Doctor  Oldham  had  assured 
him  that  there  was  nothing  wrong  with  the 
woman's  mind  save  excessive  intensity  of  thought 
and  a  spirituality  bordering  upon  the  marvel- 
ous. 

Of  all  these  things  Walker  Paling  was  thinking 
as  he  sat  smoking  in  his  luxurious  chair,  with 
half-closed  eyes.  She  had  been  absent  now  for 
four  weeks;  visiting  her  friends  out  of  the  city, 
his  friends  believed.  He  knew  nothing  of 
where  she  was,  or  if  she  were  living  or  dead. 
She  left  him  in  her  usual  mysterious  manner, 
leaving  no  trace  save  a  scented  note  upon  his 
dressing-case,  telling  him  that  she  would  never 
return,  that  her  love  was,  gone,  and  that  she  held 
nothing  but  hate  for  him  in  her  heart.  He  was 
startled  by  the  fierceness  of  this  note,  but  he  had 
never  loved  her,  and  her  absence  was  a  positive 


Drama  of  a  Life.  22$ 

For  four  weeks  she  had  been  absent,  and  he 
began  to  hope  that  she  would  be  true  to  her 
word  and  never  return.  He  had  done  wonder- 
ful work  under  her  power,  but  he  never  felt  that 
<t  was  truly  his  own,  or  that  the  commendation 
which  he  received  upon  it  belonged  to  him. 
Down  in  his  soul  he  rather  despised  himself  for 
his  inability  to  maintain  his  individuality,  rather 
than  to  be  guided  by  this  half-mad  woman's 
whim. 

This  just  completed  work  was,  therefore, 
doubly  satisfying  to  him,  knowing  that  it  was  in 
every  sense  his  own — plot  and  character  and 
scene — word  for  word.  He  knew  its  perfections 
and  imperfections.  He  was  as  capable  of  criti- 
cising his  own  work  as  that  of  another.  This 
was  not  so  weird  or  intense  in  description  as 
those  former  novels  with  the  strange  woman's 
life  along  the  pages,  but  it  was  more  fascinating 
from  its  truth  and  life-like  characters  and  situa- 
tions. 

He  was  very  pleased  with  it.  He  was  proud 
of  it,  and  anxious  that  it  should  get  into  the 


224  Lida  Campbell,  or 

hands  of  a  publisher  as  soon  as  possible,  that  the 
public  should  know  what  he  could  do,  although 
no  one  guessed  of  the  power  behind  his  former 
work. 

"  It  is  very  remarkable,"  he  argued  with  him- 
self, watching  with  lazy  eyes  the  twisting  and 
curling  of  the  smoke  from  his  cigar,  "  where  she 
has  gone.  She  must  have  squandered  the 
greater  part  of  her  fortune  during  these  strange 
absences.  I  am  half  convinced,  in  spite  of 
Oldham  or  any  other  physician,  that  it  is  to 
opium  and  a  weakness  of  the  brain  that  she  owes 
these  spells  of  acute  perception  and  half-fiendish 
imagination.  I  am  sure  that  Oldham  himself 
recommended  to  me  the  use  of  morphine  when  I 
desire  to  write  a  really  strong  novel ;  and  it  may 
be  that  Olive  sustains  belief  in  its  power,  calling 
it,  in  the  peculiar  beliefs  of  the  drug,  the  power 
of  spiritualism  and  hypnotism.  If  this  is  so,  her 
absences,  her  abstinence  from  food  and  her  half- 
dead  face  and  manner  are  accounted  for. 

"  In  that  way,  too,  she  could  easily  squander 
fortunes.  Her  mind  is  marvelous ;  but  if  she 


Drama  of  a  Life.  225 

yields  it  to  the  use  of  such  a  drug,  she  will  of 
necessity,  and  sooner  than  one  with  less  sensitive- 
ness, fall  a  victim  to  insanity.  She  must  weaken 
under  its  influence  sooner  or  later.  That  it  is 
the  intensity  of  spiritualism,  as  she  and  Oldham 
declare,  is  all  bosh.  There  is  no  more  spiritual- 
ism about  her  moods  than  there  is  about  the 
devil. 

"  It  may  not  be  loyal  to  acknowledge,  but  I 
am  infinitely  relieved  that  she  has  gone.  She 
was  growing  too  tiger-like.  Murder  may  be  all 
very  well  in  a  novel,  and  any  amount  of  ink-blood 
is  quite  harmless,  but  there  was  something 
about  her  before  she  left  that  suggested  murder 
^nd  bloodshed  in  real  life.  It  was  just  a  trifle 
too  ghastly  for  me." 

His  cigar  was  burned  down  to  ashes,  and 
Paling  arose,  after  a  few  moments  of  idle 
lounging,  and  passed  into  his  dressing-room. 
There  were  calls,  and  an  engagement  to 
luncheon,  and  a  drive  in  the  afternoon  with 
Miss  Fitzgerald,  the  pretty  young  artist,  and 


226  Li  da  Campbell,  or 

social  life  would  claim  him  for  the  remainder  of 
the  day. 

His  toilet  was  another  of  his  fastidious 
luxuries,  and  he  would  allow  nothing  to 
disturb  him  or  intrude  upon  him  at  that  time. 
But  this  morning  fate  intruded  upon  him — fate, 
in  the  form  of  a  woman. 

A  light  rap  sounded  on  the  door  of  his  sitting- 
room  adjoining  his  dressing-room,  and  as  his 
valet  answered  the  summons,  this  woman  entered. 
She  entered  as  one  who  is  determined  upon  one 
errand  and  oblivious  to  all  else.  Downing,  the 
valet,  would  have  detained  her  at  the  door,  not 
at  first  recognizing  her,  but  she  disconcerted  him 
with  her  white  face  and  her  far-seeing  eyes  and 
haughty  manner. 

"  Mr.  Paling  is  engaged,"  murmured  Downing, 
endeavoring  to  be  faithful  to  his  duties. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman,  coldly.  "  I  think  you 
do  not  know  me,  Downing.  Well,  I  shall  go 
to  him  at  once.  He  will  see  me  /" 

Walker  Paling  heard  her  voice,  and  his  mute 
gesture  was  pathetic  in  its  despair.  He  feared 


Drama  of  a  Life.  227 

her,  yet  he  had  not  the  will  power  to  be  free  from 
her  influence.  He  knew  that  her  influence  was 
evil,  that  her  touch  upon  his  work  gave  it  a 
lawless  freedom  of  thought  that  was  not  just  to 
himself  and  a  disregard  of  conventionality  that 
depressed  him.  Had  it  not  been  cowardly,  he 
could  have  found  it  in  his  heart  to  have  fled  from 
her  and  hidden  himself. 

He  could  not  in  her  presence  do  more  than 
yield  to  the  peculiar  magnetism  of  her  face  and 
eyes  and  voice.  He  turned  to  the  doorway  now, 
knowing  that  she  was  crossing  the  room  toward 
him,  and  the  pallor  upon  his  face  proved  his 
intense  excitement. 

She  was  very  beautiful  pausing  in  the  door- 
way. Her  hair  was  white,  but  not  with  years. 
Her  eyes  were  soft  and  far-away  in  expression. 
For  an  instant,  as  they  rested  upon  him,  a  gleam 
like  fire  touched  them  and  died  out,  leaving 
them  paler  in  color  than  before.  Her  face  was 
quite  white,  almost  dead  white ;  but  she  was 
still  very  beautiful.  When  she  spoke,  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  voice  stirred  him  to  admiration. 


228  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  You  may  leave  us,  Downing,"  Paling  said, 
desirous  that  no  one  save  himself  should  hear 
what  she  might  say.  Sometimes,  on  her  return 
from  these  absences,  her  moods  were  terrible. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

HER  ERRAND. 

I  have  a  soul  that,  like  an  ample  shield, 
Can  take  in  all,  and  verge  enough  for  more. 

DRYDEN. 

"I  have  returned,"  she  said. 

"  Yes ;"  he  replied  quietly,  his  eyes  irresisti- 
bly drawn  and  held  by  hers  ;  "  so  I  see,  Olive. 
You  look  fatigued.  Will  you  not  be  seated  ?" 

A  shadow  of  scorn  crossed  her  face  as  he 
placed  a  chair  for  her.  Her  height  was  equal 
with  his,  and  she  was  a  magnificent  woman  in 
physique.  Her  face  was  white  and  wan  from 
real  physical  illness  or  mental  suffering,  but  she 
carried  herself  with  so  much  grace  and  pride, 
that  weakness  was  not  noticeable  in  her. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  229 

"  I  will  not  be  seated,"  she  said,  coldly.  "  I 
thought  when  I  left  you  that  I  should  never 
come  back.  But  I  have  come.  I  was  impelled 
to  come  because  of  a  great  work  I  have  for  you 
to  do.  I  have  been  very  ill.  I  do  not  desire 
your  sympathy,"  her  lifted  hand  silencing  the 
words  upon  his  lips.  "  Do  not  think  that  I 
come  for  that !  There  are  those  who  would 
give  it  me  should  I  desire  ;  I  do  not.  Sympa- 
thy is  the  world's  coin  for  hypocrisy.  Downing 
has  gone  ?  That  is  well.  What  I  have  to  say  is 
between  ourselves.  I  have  been  ill — starving — 
friendless  here  in  this  very  city  where  your 
fame  makes  you  great,  and  you  would  not  come 
to  me." 

"How  could  I  go  to  you,"  he  queried, 
mechanically,  "  when  I  did  not  know  where  you 
were,  Olive  ?" 

"  But  you  should  have  known !"  she  cried 
vehemently,  a  flame  in  her  eyes  as  she  spread 
out  her  hands  with  fierce  pathos.  "  I  knew 
where  you  were.  There  is  nothing  about  you 
that  I  have  not  known  during  my  absence. 


230  Lida  Campbell,  or 

You   know    that   I    see   what  others  do  not  and 
cannot  see,  and  I  have  watched  you  constantly." 

He  believed  that  she  had  watched  him  in 
some  strange  manner  with  the  cunning  of 
insanity,  but  he  dared  not  question  her.  She 
was  a  fur}'-  when  roused  ;  but  as  to  her  spiritu- 
ality— he  smiled,  thinking  of  it. 

She  saw  the  smile,  and  the  flame  deepened  in 
her  eyes.  Her  delicate  nostrils  dilated  with 
ineffable  scorn. 

"  Surely  you  know  that  I  speak  the  truth, 
Walker  Paling,"  she  said.  "  When  I  see  and 
know  truth,  why  should  I  utter  lies?  Listen: 
I  have  come  back,  as  I  said,  that  you  may  do  a 
great  work  for  me — a  mighty  work — one  that 
will  startle  the  world,  and  prove  to  those  who 
doubt  that  fatality  works  its  own  ends  and  sin 
punishes  itself.  It  will  color  your  life  and 
mine  ;  it  shall  lead  to  the  settling  of  old  scores 
and  heal  old  wounds  and  bring  us  magnificent 
fortune.  You  finished  a  novel  manuscript 
to-day.  No  doubt  it  is  good,  for  your  hand  is- 
strong  with  the  pen.  It  is  your  own,  and  your 


Drama  of  a  Life.  231 

conceit  leads  you  to  believe  it  the  best  that  you 
have  done.  It  is  nothing  compared  to  the 
words  I  shall  put  in  your  brain.  They  shall 
burn  there,  and  burn  into  the  hearts  of  your 
readers  and  make  you  great." 

Walter  Paling  knew  that  the  influence  of  her 
eyes  was  upon  him.  He  knew  from  past  experi- 
ence that  this  work  she  desired  him  to  under- 
take would  be  done  by  his  hand  and  under  his 
name.  From  her  manner  he  believed  that  this 
work  would  be  some  mad  romance  exceeding 
their  former  work.  He  did  not  like  the  thought. 
This  novel  just  completed  was  his  own  ;  no  fiery 
brain  had  set  his  pen  aflame,  and  he  was  certain 
that  it  would  meet  with  favor.  He  had  begun 
to  feel  that  he  was  free  from  this  subtle  woman's 
power  and  rid  of  her  presence  ;  and  here  she 
stood  in  his  doorway,  wearing  his  name  before 
the  world,  weaving  her^  spells  once  more  about 
him. 

He  knew  this,  and  struggled  against  it  in  vain. 
A  sudden  sensation  of  suffocation  possessed  him. 
He  turned  to  the  window  to  raise  the  sash,  but 


232  Li  da  Campbell,  or 

she  stopped  him.  She  crossed  the  space 
between  them  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm, 
her  eyes  upon  his. 

"  Be  seated,"  she  said,  commandingly,  as  one 
speaks  to  an  obstinate  child. 

He  obeyed  mechanically.  If  seemed  to  him 
that  his  will  power  had  gone  out  to  her,  in  spite 
of  his  struggle. 

"  I  cannot  do  this  work  for  you  now,  Olive," 
he  said  ;  and  his  voice  betrayed  mingled  help- 
lessness and  rebellion.  "  I  have  worked  hard 
on  this  other  novel.  I  must  have  rest.  I  am 
not  like  you  to  endure  all  things." 

He  attempted  a  smile,  but  it  was  a  forlorn 
failure.  The  contemptuous  gesture  of  her 
hands  and  the  thin,  curled  lips  were  her  only 
answer  for  a  moment.  Then  she  said,  quietly  : 

"  No ;  you  are  not  like  me,  Walker  Paling. 
Were  you  as  I  am — had  you  one-half  my  power 
—what  marvelous  work  we  might  do !  But 
you  lack  faith  ;  you  lack  the  inner  perception — 
the  finer  uplifting  of  thought  that  touches  the 
fire  of  heaven — and  your  heart  is  cold.  What 


Drama  of  a  Life.  233 

do  I  care  that  you  have  worked  hard  on  your 
novel?  This  shall  be  mine.  It  shall  prove  my 
power.  My  brain  shall  electrify  yours;  my 
thought  inspire  your  pen.  What  lies  behind  the 
romance — how  much  of  truth  is  in  it — who  will 
guess?  If  the  background  is  black,  with  a  hue 
of  red,  we  shall  discover — presently  !" 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  said  Paling, 
wearily.  "There  are  social  duties  as  well  as 
mental  rest  to  fill  up  much  of  my  time  at  pres- 
ent. By  and  by,  perhaps — 

"  There  is  no  by  and  by  for  me,"  she  said, 
icily.  "  What  may  not  happen  if  we  set  aside 
our  manifest  destiny  ?  I  planned  this  work  dur- 
ing my  illness ;  the  future  lay  clearly  before  me, 
and  I  was  near  the  border  of  spirit-land.  It  is 
to  be  my  life — your  life — the  life  of  others ! 
What  are  social  duties  compared  with  the  call 
upon  our  souls  ?  What  has  society  to  do  with 
spirituality?" 

"  And  what  has  spirituality  to  do  with 
society?"  retorted  Paling,  in  a  last  desperate 
effort  to  shake  off  her  power.  "  I  tell  you, 


234  Lida  Campbell,  or 

Olive,  that  I  cannot  do  this  for  you  now.  I  will 
not !  I  will  no  longer  endure — " 

She  stooped  suddenly  over  him  as  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  looking  up  to  her,  and  laid  one 
cold,  firm  hand  upon  his  lips.  Her  eyes  had 
grown  black  and  flashing  and  her  face  colorless. 

"  You  must  endure  much — you  must  endure 
whatever  is  written  in  heaven  for  you  to 
endure !"  she  said,  sternly.  "  You  are  no  better 
than  I,  no  better  than  the  rest  of  the  world,  to 
endure  what  lies  for  you  in  the  future.  I  know 
what  it  is.  Wonderful  revelations  of  the  spirit- 
land  and  of  the  future  of  those  spirits  still  in  the 
flesh  came  to  me  since  I  have  been  ill.  I  could 
tell  you  if  I  would,  but  I  will  not.  It  might 
startle  you  to  see  the  stain  upon  the  curtain 
hiding  your  life  to  come.  Who  knows  but  this 
work  of  ours  may  rend  it  aside  and  reveal  things 
to  you  that  I  cannot  reveal  in  words  ?  There  is 
a  fulfillment  more  than  the  amusement  of  your 
readers  in  the  accomplishment  of  this  work ! 
And  fortune,  too — magnificent  fortune  !" 

"  I    cannot  help  it,"    he  said,    rather    weakly, 


Drama  of  a  Life.  235 

pushing  her  hand  aside.  "  I  cannot  do  it,  I  tell 
you,  Olive,  now.  I  cannot  even  talk  longer 
upon  the  subject.  I  have  an  engagement  at 
one,  and  must  go.  You  will  pardon  me,  I  trust, 
but  it  is  unavoidable." 

She  lifted  her  head  like  an  infuriated  queen. 
Her  eyes  were  blazing. 

"  I  will  keep  you  no  longer  from  your  social 
duties — now,"  she  said,  passionately.  "  But 
when  you  have  done  with  them  I  shall  come  to 
you,  and  you  will  do  my  work  !  I  shall  be  here 
to-morrow  morning  at  eleven.  Make  no  engage- 
ments for  the  day.  You  shall  not  fail  me." 

"  But,"  ventured  Paling,  uneasily,  "  how 
strange  it  will  look  for  you  to  go  away — so — and 
come  back  to-morrow  !  Either  remain  here  or 
let  me-go  to  you  wherever  you  are  stopping — " 

Her  eyes  silenced  him. 

"  What  do   I   care  for   conventionality  ?"   she 
said,  with  a   movement  of   her  slim    hands    as* 
though  she  were  pushing  aside  all  such  claims 
upon  her.     "  What  do  I  care  what  people  think  ? 
I  go,  as  I  always  go,  where  I  will.    I  shall  return 


236  Lida  Campbell,  or 

to-morrow.  Be  prepared  for  my  work.  My 
work  is  nothing  to  the  world  until  they  have  it 
before  them  in  the  pages  of  a  novel.  Have  I 
suffered  on  the  borderland  of  heaven,  have  I 
communicated  with  innumerable  spirits  in  order 
that  the  right  way  may  be  clear,  to  be  outdone 
by  the  claims  of  society?  Has  my  spirit  actually 
deserted  my  body  to  wander  in  space  with  other 
bodiless  spirits  in  searching  for  the  perfect 
explanation  of  my  visions  of  this  work  and  its 
uses,  to  be  crushed  by  you  ?  There  is  nothing 
shall  daunt  me  in  this.  I  shall  grant  you  breath- 
ing space,  poor,  weak,  earthy  spirit,  but  to-mor- 
row you  shall  yield  your  time  ana  talents  to  me 
and  my  great  work.  Until  then,  farewell." 

She  turned  away  and  left  him  with  no  further 
word,  passing  out  as  quietly  as  she  entered, 
closing  the  door  behind  her  with  a  muffled  click 
of  the  lock.  For  a  moment  Paling  sat  motion- 
Jess  and  silent,  staring  at  the  door  that  had 
closed  upon  her  as  though  all  volition  had  gone 
from  him  and  he  were  helpless,  now  that  she  was 
gone. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  237 

There  was  a  peculiar  pallor  and  vacancy  upon 
his  face,  and  he  looked  like  a  man  not  yet 
wakened  from  a  nightmare  of  sleep.  After  a 
few  moments,  however,  he  rose  unsteadily  to  his 
feet  and  passed  into  the  outer  room.  Here,  on 
a  stand,  was  a  tray  with  wine  and  glasses  upon 
it,  and  pouring  a  little  of  the  liquor  into  a  glass, 
he  drank  it.  This,  reviving  him,  he  summoned 
Downing  to  attend  him. 

It  was  now  too  late  to  make  the  calls  which 
he  had  planned,  but  he  kept  his  engagement  for 
luncheon,  and  in  the  afternoon  drove  out  with 
pretty  Miss  Fitzgerald.  But  everything  palled 
upon  him.  He  did  not  for  more  than  a  few 
minutes  at  a  time  forget  that  other  strange 
appointment  to  be  kept  upon  the  following  day. 
It  grew  into  a  horror,  but  he  could  not  shake  it 
off.  He  tried  to  be  gay,  but  his  gayety  was 
forced,  and  he  himself  unnatural. 

They  drove  in  the  park,  he  and  the  pretty 
young  artist,  and  the  day  was  charming,  if 
rather  chilly  for  spring,  and  he  should  have 
utterly  forgotten  all  things  disagreeable.  But 


238  Lida   Campbell,  or 

he  could  not.  He  and  Miss  Fitzgerald  with  a 
party  of  friends  went  to  the  theatre  that  evening, 
and  the  play  was  good,  but  the  tragical  action 
of  his  own  life  dulled  the  play. 

His  last  thought  that  night  was  of  the  morrow 
and  the  woman  who  had  appointed  a  meeting 
with  him.  Where  she  went  upon  leaving  him 
he  could  not  conjecture,  but  that  she  would 
retunn  at  the  time  stated  he  was  certain.  From 
her  face  and  voice  and  manner  he  knew  that  her 
illness  had  tended  to  increase  rather  than  to 
soften  her  peculiarity  of  mind ;  and  if  this  work 
which  she  had  in  view  were  really  more  intense 
and  dramatic  than  their  former  work  together, 
he  would  gladly  escape  connection  with  it ;  and 
yet  he  knew — he  frankly  acknowledged  to  him- 
self— that  he  could  not  escape. 

He  knew  the  woman's  power  and  his  own 
many  futile  attempts  to  resist.  Her  personal 
magnetism,  mesmerism,  hypnotism — whatever  it 
was  called — combined  with  her  intense  imagin- 
ation and  fine  sense  of  the  spiritual,  made  her  a 
dangerous  woman  to  a  man  like  himself. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  239 

Broad  daylight  came  before  he  closed  his  eyes 
in  sleep,  and  still  he  argued  and  came  to  no  con- 
clusion, save  that  he  must  submit  to  fate.  His 
only  alternative  was  flight,  and  he  could  never 
resort  to  that.  His  will,  indeed,  was  weak  when 
her  almost  superhuman  power  dominated,  but 
his  manhood  refused  to  yield  to  cowardice. 

And  by  and  by  pretty  Miss  Fitzgerald's  face 
and  level  eyes  and  soft,  womanly  manner  came 
to  him  in  dreams,  and  stood  out  strongly  con- 
trasted by  this  other  woman's  passionate  voice 
and  face. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

WEAVING   THE   CURTAIN. 

We  live  in  deeds,  not  years;  in  thoughts,  not  breaths; 
In  feelings,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 
We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs. 

FESTUS. 

Eleven  muffled  strokes  of  the  hammer  from 
the  handsome  clock  on  the  mantel,  and  Walker 
Paling  started  nervously,  as  though  the  gilded 


240  Lida  Campbell,  or 

hammer  struck  upon  his  brain  instead  of  the 
intricate  inner  machinery  of  Time's  represent- 
ative. He  was  sitting  alone  at  his  desk,  with  his 
manuscript  paper  and  pen  and  ink  before  him, 
waiting  the  arrival  of  his  visitor.  For  he  knew 
that  she  would  come — and  she  came. 

The  reverberation  of  the  clock's  hammer  had 
not  died  away,  when  a  light  rap  on  the  door  of 
the  sitting-room  announced  her  arrival.  He  was 
certain  that  it  was  she  as  he  arose  to  admit  her. 
He  had  discreetly  dismissed  Downing  for  the 
day  or  until  summoned,  knowing  that  it  were 
best  for  him  to  receive  her  alone. 

She  was  his  equal  in  height,  and  as  the  door 
swung  back  and  she  entered,  her  eyes  met  his 
levelly,  and  the  latent  fire  within  them  startled 
him.  He  stepped  aside,  closing  the  door  behind 
her  and,  after  the  simplest  courteous  salutation, 
they  passed  together  into  his  private  room. 

She  seated  herself  at  once  behind  his  desk, 
drawing  a  writing-pad  and  pen  close  to  her 
hand,  utterly  disregarding  her  bonnet  and  wraps 
until  he  gently  removed  them  for  her,  when  she 


Drama  of  a  Life.  241 

glanced  up  indifferently.  He  knew  that  it 
would  be  useless  to  expostulate  with  her,  and 
seated  himself  in  grave  silence. 

"  It  is  as  well  that  you  were  not  prepared  for 
me  yesterday,"  she  said,  coldly,  slowly  drawing 
off  her  gloves,  "  for  a  long  night's  vigil  has 
matured  my  thoughts  and  plans,  and  ripened 
suggestion  to  clear  detail." 

"And  your  plot?"  he  asked,  as  coldly  as 
she  had  spoken,  restlessly  brushing  aside  the 
paper  before  him,  feeling  her  burning  eyes  upon 
him/  "What  is  it,  Olive?  I  must  have  the 
outline  before  we  begin." 

She  laughed  shortly  and  rather  scornfully  as 
she  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink  and  carefully 
cleared  all  blots  from  it  against  the  side  of  the 
cut-glass  receiver.  But  she  did  not  take  her 
eyes  from  his  face. 

"  This  story  is  not  yours,"  she  said,  intensely  ; 
"  it  is  mine,  Walker  Paling  !  The  great  novelist 
shall  have  the  world's  honor  for  it,  but  in  his 
heart  he  shall  remember  that  it  belongs  truly  to 
a  woman,  and  to  a  woman  who  is  trampled 


242  Li  da   Campbell,  or 

under  his  careless  feet!  You  shall  be  but  ray 
workman  and  build  the  fabric  whose  architect- 
ure is  mine.  And  when  it  is  finished  the  world 
will  cry  that  the  blood  was  fire  and  the  brain 
mad  that  could  fashion  such  a  plot ;  but  we  will 
laugh,  knowing  that  is  not  true !  Were  it 
possible,  I  would  accomplish  this  work  without 
the  aid  of  any  one  ;  but  this  I  cannot  do,  for  the 
world  would  laugh  at  me  and  scorn  my  book. 

"  You  being  a  young  man  and  a  novelist  in 
favor,  the  work  will  be  read  as  any  weird  book 
is  read.  It  is  not  necessary  to  tell  you  the  plot. 
That  will  develop  as  we  go  on.  All  that  is 
required  of  you  is  to  obey  my  will.  It  must  be 
worked  out  strong  and  well,  so  as  to  melt  the 
hearts  of  those  who  read  it  and  win  their  sym- 
pathy. //  must  move  them  to  like  deeds,  or  it  is 
useless." 

Walker  Paling  would  have  given  half  his 
fortune  to  be  free  from  her  power,  but  he  knew 
that  he  would  finally  yield  and  was  helpless. 
What  was  his  will  before  the  steady,  flaming 
eyes  of  this  woman?  He  was  deadly  pale,  and 


Drama  of  a  Life.  243 

at  first  his  hand  was  weak  as  he  took  up  his  pen 
and  turned  his  face  reluctantly  but  surely  to  hers. 

But  now  that  he  was  ready,  her  interest  seemed 
to  die  away.  She  sat  with  one  arm  resting  upon 
the  desk,  the  pen  held  ready  for  immediate  use, 
but  her  face  and  eyes  vacant  as  though  life  had 
died. 

Paling  was  familiar  with  this  change  in  her 
at  times,  and  betrayed  no  emotion  save  extreme 
attention  to  her  look  and  voice. 

"  Modena's  story  is  strange,"  she  began  by  and 
by,  not  changing  her  expression  or  attitude  ; 
but  her  listener  knew  that  the  manuscript  was 
started,  and  mechanically  took  down  her  words. 

A  strange  story,  indeed,  and  as  it  progressed 
under  the  woman's  powerful  influence  and 
intellect,  even  this  man  whose  work  was  pro- 
nounced  first  among  imaginative  literature,  felt 
a  half-vague  horror  upon  him.  Still  he  was 
forced  to  continue  ;  still  his  knowledge  set  her 
plot  in  strong  colors,  until  it  colored  his  own 
brain,  and  he  could  scarcely  distinguish  whether 
it  were  her  work  or  his  own. 


244  Lida  Campbell,  or 

Physical  fatigue  seemed  impossible  to  her. 
She  sat  as  easily,  uttering  in  her  softly-modulated 
voice  the  words  that  were  set  down  in  ink  under 
her  companion's  fingers,  so  to  end  in  printed 
pages  for  the  world  to  read,  as  though  it  were 
but  the  conversation  of  any  ordinary  day. 

It  was  not  only  a  strange  story,  but  the  manner 
of  its  composition  was  also  remarkable.  Paling 
knew  it,  but  he  was  completely  under  her  will 
power,  and  even  his  horror  of  the  mad  romance 
could  not  deaden  the  fact  sifting  into  his  mind 
that  he  feared  her.  He  believed  that  she  would 
not  hesitate  to  work  evil  to  him  should  he 
successfully  resist  her  mental  power. 

Through  the  entire  day  they  did  not  leave  the 
room,  did  not  leave  their  positions  at  the  desk. 
The  woman  was  apparently  indifferent  to 
physical  weariness  or  the  demands  of  hunger, 
and  the  man  was  passively  responsive  to  her 
words  and  thoughts.  At  times  she  did  not  utter 
speech,  and  yet  he  continued  indefatigably  as 
though  he  were  endowed  with  her  will  and  mind. 
He  had  made  no  engagements,  knowing  that 


Drama  of  a  Life.  245 

it  would  be  useless,  and  declined  all  invitations 
under  the  plea  of  pressing  work,  in  consequence 
of  which  they  were  undisturbed  throughout  that 
day. 

All  night  they  worked  on  and  still  neither 
betrayed  any  sign  of  fatigue,  save  that  Paling 
was  deadly  pale  and  the  woman's  eyes  were 
glowing  with  some  fierce  mental  fire.  For  three 
days  and  nights  these  two  worked  on  unceas- 
ingly. No  meals  were  served  to  them.  No 
one  was  admitted.  She  would  allow  nothing 
to  come  between  her  madly  woven  romance 
and  her  power  over  her  fellow-worker.  As 
he  grew  physically  weak  from  this  fasting 
and  overwork,  her  will  was  marvelous  upon  his 
mind.  He  hourly  grew  more  and  more  possessed 
with  the  spirit  of  his  work,  and  acquired  a  half- 
alive  expression  after  that  first  day  and  night  in 
the  quiet  rooms  with  his  strange  companion. 

Still,  he  never  seemed  to  tire,  never  to  lose 
interest  in  the  work  that  was  to  prove  a  marvel- 
ous romance — to  him  as  real  as  life. 

When  the  manuscript  was  completed  in  rough 


246  Lida  Campbell,  or 

outline,  and  the  more  trying  brainwork  was 
over,  Paling  was  so  thoroughly  exhausted  that 
he  had  not  the  power  to  rise  from  his  desk,  and 
the  woman,  triumphant  in  her  success,  with  her 
wonderful,  almost  diabolical  strength  assisted 
him  to  a  couch,  from  which  he  did  not  rise,  save 
to  be  removed  to  his  bed. 

For  two  weeks  he  was  like  one  in  delirious 
fever,  wild  with  visions  of  the  brain,  stricken 
with  remorse  for  the  work  which  he  believed 
that  he  had  done  in  place  of  the  hero  of  their 
romance,  who  came  to  him  in  his  illness  as  a 
ghost  of  himself  and  tormented  him  like  a  devil, 
always  accompanied  by  a  silent,  beautiful 
woman,  with  soft,  snowy  hair,  and  eyes  of  flame 
that  burned  into  his  soul  the  meaning  that  the 
lips  refused  to  utter. 

For  two  weeks  he  remained  in  this  dangerous 
condition  bordering  upon  insanity,  cared  for 
untiringly  by  the  woman  and  Downing,  the 
woman  refusing  to  admit  any  physician. 

"  It  is  merely  mental  exhaustion,"  she  said 
evenly  to  the  valet,  who  respectfully  but 


Drama  of  a  Life.  247 

repeatedly  suggested  the  expediency  of  sum- 
moning medical  aid  ;  and  she  said  this  in  her 
peculiar  voice,  with  her  eyes  upon  his  face,  and 
Downing  acquiesced  with  strange  humility. 

He,  and  he  alone,  knew  of  the  hours  this  quiet 
woman  spent  before  that  desk  in  the  inner  room, 
correcting,  revising  and  making  perfect  the  first 
rough  draught  of  the  manuscript  whose  influ- 
ence was  so  evil  to  her  companion  ;  and,  at  such 
times,  he  murmured  to  himself,  also  knowing 
the  delirious  ravings  of  his  master,  he  would  no 
more  have  dared  disturb  her  than  he  would 
rouse  a  tiger. 

But  Walker  Paling  recovered.  Slowly, 
indeed,  and  for  a  long  time  only  a  shadow  of  his 
former  self ;  but  he  recovered.  Recovered  to 
realize  that  some  powerful  tragedy  had  entered 
into  his  life  and  lived  in  his  blood,  ready  for  the 
lifting  of  his  hand  to  glow  redly  against  that 
curtain  that  hung  half-parted  before  his  future 
life.  The  curtain  was  woven  mutually  by  this 
woman  and  himself — her  plan,  but  his  fulfilling  ; 
and  after  near  approach  to  death,'  he  had 


248  Lida  Campbell,  or 

returned  to  life,  to  take  this  work  upon  himself 
and  weave  the  red  in  the  warp. 

Not  one  word  of  this  had  passed  between 
them.  She  had  only  uttered  the  plot  of  her 
romance,  but  the  truth  under  the  fiction  grew, 
with  the  growing  story,  in  his  inner  conscious- 
ness, and  he  knew  that  she  was  dictating  to  him 
her  will,  that  it  was  he,  and  not  the  hero  of  her 
romance,  who  should  set  the  tragic  end.  And 
still  he  knew  that  he  could  not  successfully  resist 
her  power. 

His  friends  sent  tokens  of  their  regard  for  him  in 
fruit  and  flowers  and  regrets  for  his  absence  from 
among  them,  but  the  fact  of  his  illness  was  kept 
from  them,  and  they  believed  him  only  engaged 
upon  some  pressing,  important  manuscript. 
Downing  was  discreet  and  told  nothing,  and  the 
chambermaid  who  came  to  attend  to  her  duties 
was  well  paid  for  silence,  and  any  idiosyncrasy 
was  permissible  with  such  a  litterateur as  Walker 
Paling. 

To  all  this  the  woman  was  indifferent,  so  long 


Drama  of  a  Life.  249 

as  her  work  progressed  and  the  world  knew  no 
more  than  was  wise  for  it  to  learn. 

"  You  see  that  I  am  not  like  you  in  endurance, 
Olive,"  Paling  said  one  day,  as  he  was  lying 
among  the  cushions  of  the  couch,  watching  her 
as  she  was  completing  the  closing  chapter  of  the 
novel.  "  I  have  always  warned  you  not  to 
expect  too  much  of  me." 

"  I  expect  nothing,"  was  the  cold  reply,  as  the 
woman  turned  for  a  moment  from  her  work  to 
meet  his  eyes,  "  but  that  of  which  I  am  certain. 
I  knew  that  this  work  would  be  done  by  you, 
and  it  is  done.  As  to  endurance,  you  could 
possess  it  would  you  but  have  the  faith  and  con- 
fidence in  my  power  to  grant  it  you.  But  no. 
Like  those  who  have  never  proved  the  wonderful 
agency  of  the  will  and  of  invisible  spirits,  you 
are  too  weak  for  great  work.  Were  it  not  for 
me,  this  work  that  will  make  you  famous  would 
have  never  been  accomplished." 

"  I  wish  that  it  had  never  been  done,"  mur- 
mured the  novelist,  under  his  breath. 

But  either  her  ears  were  peculiarly  swift  to  hear 


250  Lida   Campbell,  or 

or  she  guessed  his  thought,  for  her  eyes  grew 
suddenly  flaming,  black  with  anger. 

"  And  so  you  express  your  thanks,"  she  said, 
in  a  strangely  suppressed  voice.  "  Have  I 
endured  days  and  nights  of  bodily  pain  and 
starvation  that  my  spirit  should  be  free  from 
earthly  thought,  for  you  to  turn  upon  me  with 
your  discontent  ?  Do  you  think  that  I  am  doing 
this  for  love  ?  I  am  doing  it  for  a  purpose. 
Walker  Paling,  as  you  know,  and  it  is  only 
through  you  that  the  end  can  be  attained.  But 
it  shall  be  !  You  shall  not  fail  me  !" 

A  sudden  wave  of  resistance  surged  upon  the 
man.  He  raised  himself  from  among  the  pillows, 
one  hand  clenched  as  though  in  that  way  to  retain 
firm  hold  of  his  resolution.  His  eyes  reflected 
the  fire  in  her  own,  as  he  faced  her. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Olive,"  he  said,  sternly.      "  I 

• 
have  yielded  to  your  strangely  superior  will  to 

this  time.     There  is  an  end  to  all  things — " 

"  Not  to  the  spirit,"  she  interrupted,  coldly, 
and  her  face  and  eyes  seemed  to  contract  with 
newly  summoned  power.  "  The  spirit  is  indom- 


Drama  of  a  Life.  251 

itable,  Walker  Paling !  Look  at  the  work  that 
mine  has  done !" 

"  A  devil's  own  work  !"  cried  the  man,  fiercely. 
"  No  woman's  soul  is  in  you,  Olive  !  Never 
from  this  moment,  though  you  were  one  hundred 
times  my  wife,  shall  I  submit  to  you  !  Perhaps 
you  think " — a  sneer  along  the  words,  a  fine 
scorn  of  himself  and  his  weak  will  in  his  voice — 
"  that  because  I  have  been  so  easily  persuaded 
that  I  shall  always  be.  But  from  to-day — and 
remember  that  I  mean  it — no  word  or  thought 
of  yours  shall  influence  my  work.  Am  I  not  a 
man,  and  shall  my  work  not  be  my  own?" 

She  laughed,  and  the  sound  was  strangely 
unfamiliar.  Her  thin  lips  curled  in  scorn. 

"  You  rave,"  she  said,  calmly,  as  she  arose. 
"  My  work  is  finished.  I  leave  you  now.  When 
you  have  sufficiently  recovered  from  this  poor, 
earthy,  mortal  exhaustion,  you  shall  complete 
the  work  by  securing  its  publication.  Then  the 
end  must  come.  1  have  not  done  this  from  love, 
but  hate." 


252  Lida  Campbell,  or 

He  paled,  his  eyes  still  fixed,  fascinated,  upon 
hers. 

She  approached  and  looked  down  upon  him 
as  he  leaned  among  the  cushions,  and  he  fought 
desperately  to  resist  the  power  of  her  gaze. 

"  I  have  no  fear,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was 
the  old  peculiar,  far-away,  softly  modulated 
voice.  "  You  shall  still  obey  me,  Walker  Paling, 
and  finish  the  work  that  I  have  given  you  to  do. 
Until  then  I  shall  leave  you,  but  remember  that 
I  shall  know  always  what  you  do !" 

She  turned  away  perfectly  quiet  and  cold  and 
beautiful ;  but  the  man  among  the  cushions  fell 
helplessly  back,  watching  her  away,  a  half-blur 
before  his  mind  mingled  vividly  with  her  words 
of  warning  uttered  that  first  day  of  their  work 
— starting  through  this  mental  blur  with  start- 
ling distinctness  and  meaning,  knowing  her  wish 
for  him : 

"  //  must  move  them  to  like  deeds,  or  it  is  use- 
less r 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

WHICH  SHALL  CONQUER? 

Yet  tears  to  human  suffering  are  due ; 

And  mortal  hopes  defeated  and  o'erthrown 

Are  mourned  by  man  and  not  by  man  alone. 

WORDSWO  RTH. 

"  How  horrible  !"  said  Walker  Paling,  pacing 
the  floor  of  his  study  with  his  hands  clasped 
behind  him  and  his  head  bent  in  deep  thought. 
His  brows  were  meeting  blackly  and  his  eyes 
were  shot  with  red  as  though  he  were  enduring 
some  extreme  mental  and  physical  suffering. 
"  How  horrible  !  Treat  this  matter  as  lightly  as 
I  may,  there  remains  this  horrible  conviction 

that  she  was  dictating  to  me  what  I  should  do 

«ir 
and  not  the  hero  of  this  romance !     She  uttered 

not  one  word  of  it,  and  yet  I  know  that  it  is  her 

[253] 


254  Lida  Campbell,  or 

determination  to  force  me  to  accomplish  the 
evil  she  has  in  view.  She  hates  her  brother. 
He  stands  also  in  the  way  of  her  inheriting  an 
immense  fortune.  She  would  revenge  herself 
upon  him  because  his  nobler  nature  conquered 
the  devilish  side  of  character  running  through 
the  family.  She  would  have  me  end  his  life  in 
some  silent  manner,  as  the  heroine  does  in  this 
manuscript,  or  she  would  have  me  shield  her 
with  my  life  if  her  hand  should  do  the  deed  !" 

To  and  fro  he  paced  more  and  more  slowly, 
and  finally  paused  at  his  desk,  where  the  manu- 
script lay  ready  for  copying,  revised  and  edited. 

He  had  done  his  best  with  it  and  worked 
faithfully  to  make  it  perfect,  to  tone  down  the 
crimson  stain  upon  it  and  to  brighten  the  sadder 
pages.  He  gave  his  time  for  days  after  the 
woman  left  him,  impressed  with  the  belief  that 
she  still  knew  of  his  movements  and  still  colored 
his  will  with  her  own.  He  could  not  lay  it  aside 
as  he  could  any  other  such  work  of  his  own,  but 
gave  his  constant  time  and  thought  to  its  per- 
fecting. He  had  worked  himself  pale  and  thin 


Drama  of  a  Life.  255 

but  could  not  resist  the  invisible,  incomprehensi- 
ble power  that  forced  him  on. 

Pausing  at  the  desk,  he  lifted  the  manuscript 
and  ran  over  the  pages,  fluttering  them,  as  he 
read  here  and  there  a  particularly  strong  line  or 
paragraph.  As  he  did  so  he  became  absorbed 
in  it ;  he  could  not  lay  it  down  ;  it  was  as 
though,  as  an  actor  in  a  drama,  he  must 
thoroughly  learn  his  part.  He  smiled  bitterly 
as  this  thought  came  to  him.  He  felt  that  it  was 
true ;  and,  like  the  actor,  when  the  drama  was 
played,  he  must  accept  his  part. 

"  It  is  a  horrible  thing!"  he  said  to  himself, 
still  struggling  to  conquer  the  power  that  would 
conquer  his  will.  "  Yet  she  has  ruled  my  intel- 
lect since  first  we  met,  and  only  heaven  knows 
but  she  always  will !  I  fight  against  it  and  yield 
at  last !  I  am  powerless  to  withstand  such 
strange  machinations !" 

Once  more  he  ran  over  page  after  page  before 
him,  this  thought  in  his  mind,  and  realized  that 
it  was  indeed  a  drama  for  his  impersonation, 
wherein  the  hero,  for  love,  shielded  the  woman 


256  Lida   Campbell,  or 

who  held  his  heart  against  the  law  and  the 
world  when  she  had  stained  her  hands  with  her 
brother's  blood  in  order  to  wreak  the  vengeance 
of  heaven  upon  him  for  his  lack  of  spirituality, 
believing  in  the  fancy  of  a  mad  woman,  that  she 
was  sent  direct  by  heaven  to  perpetrate  the 
act. 

Her  lover  suffered  much,  endured  insults  and 
even  imprisonment  through  his  love,  claiming 
that  it  was  his  hand  that  ended  the  brother's  life, 
and  would  have  suffered  death,  but  at  the  last 
pardon  was  granted  both,  and  they  went  away 
together  to  new  scenes  and  new  friends  far  from 
the  old. 

Walker  Paling  knew  that  the  plot  was  unique, 
that  many  scenes  were  dramatic,  that  it  was 
written  powerfully  and  well.  The  work  as  a 
romance  was  unexceptionable ;  as  an  inspiration 
to  like  action,  it  was  the  work  of  a  demoniacal 
mind  and  brain. 

He  laid  the  manuscript  down  again  and  seated 
himself  in  the  softly  upholstered  revolving  chair 
before  the  desk.  With  one  elbow  upon  it,  he 


Drama  of  a  Life.  257 

rested  his  head  upon  his  hand  and  pondered 
over  and  over  his  course  of  action.  Should  he, 
or  should  he  not  publish  the  novel  ?  Upon  that, 
to  him,  rested  the  weight  of  the  whole  affair. 
If  he  should  do  this,  and  then  the  actual  deed 
follow  upon  it,  would  not  the  world  cry  out 
upon  him  as  a  murderer,  like  a  pack  of  wolves  ? 
Would  it  not  accuse  him  of  the  deed  ?  Would 
it  not  have  clear  ground  for  its  charges  ?  And 
might  there  not  be  reason  to  accuse  him  ? 

How  could  he  know  what  he  would  do  under 
the  power  of  the  woman  whose  mad  blood 
colored  her  intellect,  and  her  will  held  his  ?  And 
knowing  that  his  brain  fashioned  the  romance, 
such  a  counterpart  to  the  deed — would  not  the 
world  point  to  him  as  the  one  who  was  guilty? 

With  his  head  upon  his  hand,  sitting  at  his 
desk,  Walker  Paling  fought  a  difficult  fight  with 
fate,  and  knew  not  for  many  days  whether  he 
were  victor  or  vanquished.  And  always  in  his 
mind  ran  the  woman's  words,  that,  should  the 
book  fail  to  spur  others  to  like  action,  it  would 
have  been  written  in  vain. 


258  Lida   Campbell,  or 

For  several  days  this  struggle  continued, 
though  he  resumed  his  social  life,  having  left  the 
city  with  the  early  summer  and  being  among 
many  friends  at  Newport,  and  that,  to  some 
extent,  softened  the  intensity  of  this  mental  suf- 
fering. 

For  it  was  acute,  actual  suffering  to  him.  He 
was  changed  even  to  his  friends,  who  believed 
that  this  was  due  to  overtaxed  brains  and  gave 
him  most  sincere  sympathy.  They  seldom 
questioned  him  regarding  his  wife,  for  rumor 
set  the  whisper  adrift  that  their  lives  were  not 
happy  together,  and  society  is  discreet  if  not 
over-sensitive  as  to  inflicting  wounds  upon  pain- 
fully strung  sensibilities. 

Therefore  his  many  friends,  the  many  invita- 
tions extended  to  him,  the  crowd  of  duties  daily 
devolving  upon  him,  somewhat  dulled  the  first 
wild  revolt  at  the  fate  that  placed  him  as  the 
principal  actor  in  a  drama  laid  before  him  as  a 
romance,  but  impressed  upon  his  inner  convic- 
tion as  his  life  to  be. 

And  so  one  day  a  new  novel  was  issued  from 


Drama  of  a  Life.  259 

the  press  in  paper  covers  of  gray  and  red,  and 
the  world  was  startled  by  its  daring  plot. 
Startled,  somewhat  horrified  at  first,  perhaps, 
then  better  pleased,  and  then  the  novel  was  an 
accepted  fact,  talked  about  and  read,  and 
criticised  with  alternate  severity  and  commenda- 
tion, but  accepted  as  the  novel  of  the  day,  and 
not  to  have  read  it  augured  an  inappreciative 
taste. 

So  "  The  Drama  of  a  Life,"  with  streaks  of  red 
across  the  covers,  became  a  powerful  factor  in 
many  lives,  and  struck  real  life's  horizon,  with 
the  same  red  hue  tingeing  the  curtain  hung 
before  the  future,  that  parted  as  days  passed  by. 
The  novelist's  friends  congratulated  him  upon 
the  success  of  his  marvelous  last  work,  predict- 
ing for  him  many  pleasant  possibilities;  but  it 
seemed  to  him  always  at  such  times  that  they 
were  urging  him  on  to  like  action.  If  the  world 
could  praise  a  fictitious  hero  for  such  an  act, 
should  it  not  also  praise  such  a  hero  in  real  life, 
a  man,  at  the  instigation  of  a  woman,  and  under 
her  strange  mesmeric  power,  wherein  her  wish 


260  Lida  Campbell,  or 

was  his,  her  will  his  own,  accomplishing  a  fiend- 
ish act  from  revenge,  spurred  on  by  spiritual 
forces  ? 

Daily  he  grew  more  and  more  impressed  with 
this  belief,  until  he  became  at  times  alarmed, 
thinking  himself  mad.  He  brooded  for  hours, 
when  alone,  over  the  horrible  fatality  that  so 
governed  his  promising  life.  He  had  worked 
hard  to  attain  the  height  upon  which  his  fame 
rested  ;  and  was  he  to  be  cast  down  in  humiliation 
through  the  subtle  power  of  a  half-mad  woman  ? 
He  was  often  tempted  to  go  to  Doctor  Oldham, 
lay  the  matter  before  him,  and  ask  his  advice, 
but  was  always  hindered  from  doing  this  from 
the  knowledge  that  the  woman  was  sought  by 
Oldham  before  she  gave  him  her  love.  He 
could  not  go  to  her  old  lover  and  make  known 
her  wish.  Besides,  he  knew  from  past  experi- 
ence that  the  man  would  uphold  her. 

He  grew  gloomy  and  morose.  A  cigar  and 
solitude  were  his  companions  sometimes  for 
days  together.  Little  by  little  he  allowed  his 
social  duties  to  die  away.  Even  the  pretty 


Drama  of  a  Life.  261 

young  artist,  whose  friendship  was  more  to  him 
than  she  knew,  could  not  rouse  him  from  this 
despondency. 

Kittie  Fitzgerald  was  a  charming  little  woman 
and  gave  him  the  sincere  admiration  and  sym- 
pathy that  his  genius  demanded  of  such  a  fine 
nature  as  her  own. 

He  admired  her.  Perhaps,  had  he  met  her 
before  this  other  woman  gained  influence  over 
him,  she  might  have  been  more  to  him  than 
merely  a  womanly  friend.  If  this  thought 
intruded  upon  him  at  times,  he  crushed  it  faith- 
fully ;  and  as  this  mental  struggle  grew  upon 
him,  all  other  ties  dropped  away,  until  even  this 
earnest  woman  faded  from  his  thought. 

All  life  seemed  a  blank  save  the  future — a 
curtain  woven  with  crimson  in  its  woof.  And 
one  day  he  went  quietly  away  from  his  friends, 
giving  no  hint  of  the  cause  of  his  departure,  of 
his  destination,  in  the  courteous  yet  rather  stiff 
notes  of  farewell  which  he  sent  to  those  most 
true  among  these  friends. 

Pretty  Miss  Fitzgerald  was  one  of  these,  and 


262  Lida  Campbell,  or 

if  she  was  more  quiet  than  usual  for  a  few  days 
after  this,  no  one  questioned  the  cause  or 
remarked  upon  the  change. 

"  I  never  knew  a  writer  yet  who  wasn't  queer 
in  the  head,"  said  one  of  Paling's  friends  to  a 
group  on  the  piazza  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald's  cottage, 
as  they  discussed  the  novelist's  strange  manner 
of  going  away.  "  It  looks  as  though  this  last 
book  has  knocked  him  all  up.  His  mind  and 
imagination  must  be  at  work  continually.  He 
will  turn  to  a  skeleton  if  he  continues  at  this 
rate  !" 

"  I  never  saw  any  one  look  as  he  did  when  he 
finished  this  book  !"  added  another  of  the  group. 
"  By  Jove  \  He  looked  as  though  he  had  been 
living  with  ghosts  for  a  month  !  He  ought  not 
to  work  so  hard.  One  such  novel  is  enough  for 
a  lifetime,  I  should  think  !" 

"  No  doubt — if  you  were  to  write  it !"  retorted 
the  first  speaker.  "  You  are  not  like  Paling, 
you  know,  Townsend.  He  works  like  a  Trojan 
to  accomplish  any  given  work.  Nevertheless,  it 


Drama  of  a  Life.  263 

must  tell  upon  him  to  plot  and  plan  such  strong 
romances  as  he  gives  us." 

"  Perhaps  his  wife  assists  him,"  suggested  Miss 
Fitzgerald  softly,  smiling.  "  There  is  something 
in  her  face  that  leads  one  to  believe  her  capable 
of  some  great  work,  if  she  would  attempt  it.  I 
have  seldom  met  her,  but  the  first  time  her 
beauty  impressed  itself  upon  me." 

"  With  a  woman's  peculiar  perception,"  said 
the  gentleman  beside  her.  "  For  my  part,  I  was 
repelled,  rather  than  attracted,  by  Paling's  wife. 
I  have  heard  that  many  admire  her,  but  as  she  is 
a  sort  of  a  recluse  anyway,  it  is  difficult  to  say 
positively.  She  goes  out  so  seldom,  one  has 
mighty  little  opportunity  to  study  up  on  her 
character." 

"  When  I  finished  reading  this  novel,"  said  Mr. 
Townsend,  more  seriously  than  the  others  had 
spoken, "  it  left  with  me  a  fear  that  would  not  be 
set  aside.  I  felt  and  still  feel -as  though  there 
were  something  uncanny  about  it,  or  as  though 
it  were  not  all  imaginary.  No  wonder  that 
Paling  had  a  ghostly  look  when  he  finished  it !" 


264  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  I  heard  one  of  the  most  peculiar  criticisms 
upon  the  book  last  night,"  said  one  lady,  moving 
her  fan  lazily  to  and  fro,  as  the  soft  breeze  from 
the  water  lifted  the  fluffy  hair  about  her  piquant 
face.  "  You  know  that  Doctor  Oldham  himself 
is  peculiar  in  some  of  his  views.  I  received  a 
letter  from  a  friend  last  night  and  in  it  she  wrote 
that  Doctor  Oldham  was  greatly  impressed  by 
this  new  book,  and  that  none  of  us  could  imagine 
what  he  said  regarding  it!" 

She  laughed  in  a  slow,  pretty  fashion,  very 
captivating  to  the  man  leaning  behind  her  chair. 

"  Why,  he  said  in  the  most  matter-of-fact 
manner  that  he  is  assured  that  the  work  was 
done  for  a  purpose  more  than  merely  to  amuse 
the  readers,  and  that  it  is  his  firm  belief  that  the 
writer  was  inspired !" 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THROUGH   THE   DARKNESS. 

This  is  the  night 
That  either  makes  me  or  fordoes  me  quite. 

SHAKESPEARE. 

Mrs.  Carmichael  stood  motionless  for  a  few 
minutes  after  the  sound  of  the  wheels  died  away 
over  the  meadow  road.  Fear  had  left  her,  but 
swift  comprehension  of  what  had  passed  came 
in  its  place.  The  night  was  black  with  midnight, 
and  she  was  standing  against  the  light  from  the 
room,  but  she  felt  nothing  save  strange  certainty 
of  who  this  visitor  was  and  for  what  she  had 
come. 

Very  still  the  night  was  ;  the  cry  of  a  sleepy 
bird  among  the  branches  on  the  lawn  sounded 

startlingly  distinct,  and  the  break  of  waves  over 

[265] 


266  -  Lida  Campbell,  or 

the  pebbly  beach  was  a  soft  "  slur-r  "  through  the 
darkness  like  the  quiet  breathing  of  the  sea. 

The  air  was  faintly  soft  and  mingled  with  the 
garden  odors  drifting  up  to  the  dark  balcony, 
faintly  stirring  the  lace  drapery  at  the  windows. 

Mrs.  Carmichael  nodded  to  herself,  a  gleam 
in  her  eyes  that  the  darkness  hid. 

"  A  beautiful  night,"  she  murmured,  calmly 
turning  back 'into  the  room.  "Very  beautiful, 
madam — and  discreet." 

And  drawing  the  curtains  carefully  back 
in  their  places,  she  returned  to  her  seat  beside 
the  lamp-stand,  seeing  that  her  patient  was  still 
sleeping,  and  resumed  her  book  as  though  noth- 
ing had  happened.  But  although  outwardly 
calm  she  was  greatly  excited.  The  pages  of  her 
novel  blurred  before  her,  faded  and  grew  blank 
as  her  thoughts  intensified. 

She  was  shrewd,  this  gentle  nurse.  She  was 
there  for  a  purpose,  and  she  was  the  woman  to 
accomplish  any  purpose  she  undertook. 

Perfect  silence  reigned  through  the  house. 
No  one  was  stirring  save  herself,  so  far  as  she 


Drama  of  a  Life.  267 

knew,  but  she  believed  that  she  was  not  the  only 
wakeful  one  there  that  night.  She  had  seen  and 
heard  enough  to  guess  much  more.  Not  for 
fully  an  hour  could  she  concentrate  her  thoughts 
for  reading,  but  she  had  much  self-control  and  a 
strong  will,  and  finally  brought  her  mind  in 
unison  with  the  novel. 

Strange  how  the  novel  mingled  with  her 
thoughts  !  How  the  plot  met  with  counterplot 
in  her  mind  !  But  nothing  more  happened  that 
night.  The  patient  slept  quietly,  the  house  was 
perfectly  still;  nothing  occurred  to  disturb  the 
silent  nurse  sitting  beside  the  tiny  stand  with  the 
new  novel  before  her. 

When  Doctor  Graham  called  upon  his  patient 
on  the  following  day,  he  gave  him  no  encourage- 
ment, warning  him  to  be  careful,  to  obey  orders 
and  not  to  over-exert  himself;  and  although  he 
allowed  him  to  have  his  guests  about  him 
through  the  day,  that  Mrs.  Carmichael  should 
rest,  he  forbade  their  exciting  or  fatiguing  him, 
adding  that  it  was  most  essential  for  him  to  have 
quiet  and  rest. 


268  Lida   Campbell,  or 

Mrs.  Carmichael  was  discreet  as  well  as 
shrewd.  She  decided  that  it  might  be  well  to 
keep  the  occurrence  of  the  previous  night  to  her- 
self for  a  time.  Perfect  silence  upon  the  subject 
might  lead  to  possible  development  of  the  pur- 
pose for  which  she  was  placed  there. 

"  Mr.  Price  slept  well  all  night,"  she  said, 
simply,  when  Doctor  Graham  questioned  her, 
before  leaving  the  house.  "  Do  you  not  think 
that  he  is  improved,  Doctor  ?  " 

The  doctor's  eyes  were  warning  in  their  quiet 
glance  as  he  stood  beside  the  couch  where  she 
was  lying,  drawing  on  his  gloves. 

"  It  is  best  not  to  speak  too  soon,"  he  replied 
gravely.  "  Time  may  accomplish  much,  Mrs. 
Carmichael." 

She  smiled  softly  up  to  him,  her  eyes  very 
bright,  her  white  hair  waved  evenly  about  her 
delicate  face. 

Doctor  Graham  answered  the  smile  as  though 
she  had  spoken. 

"Time     requires    patience,  you     think,  Mrs. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  269 

Carmichael.  That  is  true.  Nevertheless  patience 
works  much  sometimes." 

"  Always,"  said  the  nurse,  with  gentle  con- 
viction.  "  Always,  Doctor  Graham.  My  life 
has  proved  that  to  me  ;  years  will  prove  it  to 
you." 

The  strange  flash  and  brilliance  of  her  ejes 
struck  the  physician,  and  his  eyes  grew  keen 
looking  down  upon  her.  For  a  moment  his  per- 
fect confidence  in  her  was  shaken.  Her  eyes 
often  puzzled  him,  but  just  now  they  startled 
him  with  brilliant  expression.  He  grew  more 
cautious  in  his  speech.  He  began  to  think  that 
perhaps  he  had  been  wrong  to  trust  her  so  implic- 
itly. 

"  Doubtless  you  should  know,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  In  any  case  care  will  not  be  misplaced,  Mrs. 
Carmichael.  Has  Mrs.  Estabrook  been  with  her 
nephew  to-day?" 

"  Only  for  a  few  moments,"  replied  the  nurse 
with  equal  self-possession.  "  Mrs.  Estabrook  is 
extremely  kind,  Doctor  Graham." 

"  Certainly.     I    presume  that   she  brings  him 


270  Lida  Campbell,  or 

fruit,  does  she  not,  or  flowers  occasionally,  Mrs. 
Carmichael  ?  It  would  be  like  Mrs.  Estabrook's 
thoughtfulness  to  do  so,"  added  the  physician, 
still  with  his  keen  eyes  upon  hers. 

"  One  expects  such  attentions  especially  from 
one's  relatives  or  guests,"  said  the  nurse,  smiling, 
quite  unmoved  by  his  steady  glance.  "  Mrs. 
Estabrook  brought  up  a  few  exquisite  peaches 
yesterday  and  a  charming  bouquet  of  roses  this 
morning,  Doctor.  But  I  thought  it  wise  to  with- 
hold the  fruit,  and  the  flowers  are  in  my  room." 

With  a  slight  gesture  of  one  hand  she  indicated 
where  the  flowers  were  ;  and  the  physician,  cross- 
ing the  room  to  the  small  stand  at  the  other 
side  near  the  window,  bent  above  the  exquisite 
huge  puffs  of  deep  crimson,  inhaling  their  fra- 
grance. Then,  with  his  ungloved  hand,  he  re- 
moved the  roses  from  the  vase,  turning  to  the 
nurse : 

"  The  odor  of  flowers  is  almost  too  strong 
for  a  sick-room — especially  for  Price,  Mrs.  Car- 
michael," he  said,  coolly.  "  And  it  is  as  well  to 
give  him  only  such  fruit  as  I  send  him.  One 


Drama  of  a  Life.  271 

sometimes  does  most  harm  with  the  very  best 
intentions." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  nurse  to  herself  when  the 
doctor  was  gone,  as  she  tucked  a  corner  of  the 
cushion  more  comfortably  under  her  head,  nod- 
ding wisely  as  she  did  so.  "  And  sometimes  one 
Misjudges  another  with  the  very  best  intention, 
Doctor  Graham." 

Then  she  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  of  many 
things,  but  especially  of  novels  and  a  patient 
\vith  kind,  brown  eyes  and  a  pleasant  voice  mur- 
muring with  pathetic  frankness  of  the  care  that 
was  like  that  of  a  mother. 

But  Mrs.  Carmichael  did  not  accept  the 
position  of  nurse  in  this  important  case  to  dream 
dreams  or  spend  her  time  over  novels.  She 
laughed  at  herself  when  she  wakened,  to  think 
that  she,  with  her  white  hair,  should  fashion 
fancies  fit  only  for  the  pretty  hair  of  youth. 

"This  will  never  do,"  she  said,  gravely, 
shaking  her  head  at  the  reflection  in  her  mirror, 
as  she  carefully  brushed  the  soft  white  hair 
smooth  under  the  dainty  lace  cap  she  wore.  "  I 


272  Li  da   Campbell,   or 

cannot  have  this,  Mrs.  Carmichael,  my  dear  !" 

And  that  night,  as  darkness  deepened  through 
the  rooms  and  the  night-lamp,  softly  shaded, 
was  set  in  its  place  beyond  the  range  of  the  bed, 
Mrs.  Carmichael  remained  in  her  room,  reclining 
upon  the  couch,  with  the  one  unlocked  door  in 
full  view.  She  was  no  longer  dreaming  dreams. 
She  was  alert  and  watchful.  Nothing  should 
happen  that  night  without  her  knowledge.  The 
darkness  of  her  room  made  that  one  path  of  light 
across  the  outer  room  clearly  outlined.  The 
least  movement  there  would  be  known  to  her 
from  the  stirring  of  the  patient  to  any  presence 
other  than  her  own. 

"  No  novel  shall  claim  my  attention  to-night  /" 
she  said,  firmly. 

It  seemed  very  long  to  the  watching  woman 
before  the  house  was  quiet,  before  the  murmur 
of  voices  died  from  the  piazza  and  cigar  scent 
no  longer  drifted  to  her  with  the  fragrance  from 
the  garden.  Time  dragged.  There  was  nothing 
for  her  to  do  but  to  sit  silently  in  the  darkness 
and  wait  and  think,  and  sometimes  her  thoughts 


Drama  of  a  Life.  273 

were  far  from  pleasant  thoughts  and  her  face 
grew  stern  could  any  one  have  seen  it. 

She  was  very  quiet ;  she  scarcely  stirred,  lest 
she  be  heard.  Price  was  restless  during  the 
earlier  part  of  the  night,  but  sank  into  undis- 
turbed slumber  as  the  hours  wore  on. 

"  He  must  sleep,"  said  Mrs.  Carmichael, 
closing  her  lips  firmly.  And  the  quieting  drink 
she  gave  him  silenced  him  at  once. 

"Nothing  shall  stand  in  my  way  to-night," 
murmured  the  nurse,  as  she  resumed  her  watch- 
ful position  in  the  inner  room.  "  I  feel  assured 
that  much  will  occur  that  will  decide  this  case 
before  morning,  and  I  shall  be  prepared." 

But  the  hours  passed  one  by  one,  and 
nothing  happened.  Still  the  nurse  did  not  tire 
or  fail  in  watchfulness  of  that  thin  line  of  light 
from  beyond  the  bed  to  the  unlocked  door. 
And  by  and  by  her  faithfulness  was  rewarded. 

The  clock  struck  one — two — half  after  two. 
Perfect  silence  ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  nurse's 
certainty  of  the  need  for  wakefulness,  she  would 
have  slept  as  quietly  as  her  patient.  But  the 


274  Lida  Campbell,  or 

soft-toned  utterance  of  the- clock  had  not  died 
away  along  the  silence,  when  the  patient 
watcher  was  rewarded. 

Not  a  sound  betrayed  that  there  had  come 
evil  in  the  night.  Softly,  unheard,  scarcely  to 
be  seen,  that  unlocked  door  leading  from  the 
hall  cautiously  opened,  and  the  thin  thread  of 
lamp-light  struck  dimly  upon  the  stealthy  figure 
just  beyond  the  threshold. 

A  hushed  sort  of  figure,  pausing  to  make 
certain  that  no  one  was  within  who  could 
observe  him,  one  hand  holding  the  door  ajar, 
the  other  shielding  his  eyes  from  the  light,  the 
better  to  ascertain  if  all  were  well  within. 

Mrs.  Carmichael,  from  the  darkness  of  her 
room,  dared  not  move,  lest  some  sound  should 
betray  her  presence  and  watchfulness.  She 
started,  however,  in  uncontrolable  surprise  when 
she  first  saw  the  intruder.  Conyers'  figure, 
Conyers'  stealthy  movements,  Conyers'  strong, 
slim  hand  upon  the  door!  Then,  looking  more 
intently  still  at  that  thread  of  tell-tale  light 
through  the  darkness,  Mrs.  Carmichael's  eyes. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  2  75 

were   brilliant  with    dawning    conviction.     Mo- 
tionless she  sat  and  waited,  watching. 

The  silent  figure  crossed  the  threshold,  draw- 
ing the  doort  close  after  him,  and  moved  stealth- 
ily along  that  line  of  light  to  the  bedside.  The 
master  was  sleeping  deeply.  Not  a  sound 
proved  that  any  one  in  the  house  was  awake, 
save  this  daring  intruder.  Being  assured  of 
this,  the  man  crossed  to  the  stand  where  the  . 
water-pitcher  and  glasses  were  set  on  a  tray,  and 
first  pausing  once  more  to  make  certain  of  no 
prying  eyes,  he  removed  the  cover  from  the 
pitcher,  and  drawing  a  small  vial  from  an  inner 
pocket  of  his  coat,  leaned  forward  toward  the 
lamp-light  to  read  the  inscription  upon  it,  and 
then  poured  the  contents  into  the  pitcher. 

Replacing  the  cover,  assuring  himself  nothing 
was  disturbed  upon  the  tray  to  betray  him  or  a 
hint  of  color  in  the  water,  he  turned,  and,  without 
another  glance  toward  the  bed,  passed  out  more 
in  shadow,  save  where  the  threshold  crossed  the 
light. 


276  Lida   Campbell,   or 

That  was  all.  No  word ;  no  violence  ;  perfect 
silence. 

Perfect  silence  through  the  house,  save  the 
smothered  footsteps  along  the  corridor.  Per- 
fect silence  in  the  room  save  the  quiet 
breathing  of  the  sleeper.  Perfect  silence  in  the 
room  beyond,  save  the  beating  heart  of  the 
woman  leaning  forward,  motionless,  with  her 
brilliant  eyes  still  fixed  upon  the  door  that 
closed  so  harmlessly  behind  the  silent  man. 

For  full  ten  minutes  the  nurse  remained  upon 
the  couch,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  for  fear 
some  one  should  be  watching  as  well  as  herself, 
and  her  plans  be  fruitless.  Then,  as  silently  as 
possible,  she  arose  and  crossed  to  the  outer 
room.  Instinctively  she  glanced  keenly  toward 
the  windows  opening  upon  the  balcony,  but 
nothing  was  there.  She  was  certain  that  noth- 
ing was  there,  for  her  nerves  were  so  finely 
strung  at  that  moment  that  she  must  have  felt 
any  strange  presence.  Everything  in  the  room 
was  as  she  left  it,  with  the  exception  of  that 
harmless-looking  pitcher  upon  the  silver  tray. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  277 

Mrs.  Carmichael,  in  her  soft  gray  dress,  with 
her  beautiful  white  hair  drawn  smoothly  back 
from  her  face,  looked  like  a  guarding  spirit  of 
good,  as  she  crossed  to  the  stand  and  lifted  the 
pitcher,  carrying  it  over  to  the  light.  Her  eyes 
were  brilliant,  in  spite  of  her  snorvy  hair,  and  she 
needed  no  spectacles  to  examine  the  contents. 

Colorless,  odorless,  harmless  to  all  appear- 
ances. She  poured  out  a  little  into  one  of  the 
glasses  and  held  it  against  the  light,  her  brilliant 
eyes  concentrating  and  contracting  with  the 
keenness  of  her  gaze.  Still  colorless,  still  unbe 
traying.  But  Mrs.  Carmichael  seemed  perfectly 
satisfied.  She  poured  the  water  from  the  glass 
back  into  the  pftcher,  and  replaced  that  upon 
the  tray,  covering  it  carefully.  She  made  no 
sound  during  all  this  time,  for  the  rugs  were  soft 
and  thick  and  her  slippers  noiseless,  and  the  soft 
folds  of  her  gray  cashmere  fell  with  scarcely  a 
stir  about  her. 

Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Carmichael's  thoughts 
were  in  a  tumult,  and  Mrs.  Carmichael's  lips 
shut  sternly  over  a  bitter  cry  for  justice  delayed. 


CHAPTER     XXI. 

HARMLESS  ? 

I  believe  in  you,  but  that's  not  enough ; 
Give  my  conviction  a  clinch ! 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 

"  By  George !"  exclaimed  Mayhew,  vehe- 
mently with  an  exaggerated  gesture  of  despera- 
tion. "  If  this  thing  goes  on  much  longer, 
Bloomingdale  will  be  the  place-  for  me  !  I  tell 
you,  boys,  unless  Jack  fetches  Price  out  of  this 
cloud  of  mystery  in  double-quick  time,  I  shall 
be  a  walking  skeleton  fit  for  his  secret  closet." 

"  How  much  we  should  regret  that,"  mur- 
mured Newton,  wickedly.  "  For  none  of  us 
would  recognize  you,  Dick.  A  sort  of  centaur 

skeleton,  now,  would  not   be   so   far  out  of   the 

[278] 


Drama  of  a  Life.  279 

way,  but  a  ivalking  spook  is  quite  another  thing 
—for  you." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  interrupted  Burn- 
side,  laughing.  "  Mr.  Richard  walked  pretty 
well  yesterday  with  Miss  Kitty  Florence,  and  to 
all  appearances  he  had  no  thought  of  fatigue. 
He's  a  sly  one,  that  Mr.  Richard  Mayhew !" 

"  ^-pecially  when  he  is  trying  to  cut  some 
other  fellow  out  with  one  of  our  charming  young 
ladies,"  added  Tom  Hastings,  lazily,  blowing 
aside  the  faint,  gray  curl  of  cigar  smoke  from 
about  his  face,  that  he  might  better  criticise  his 
friend's  appearance. 

"  Oh,  come!  Quit  your  fooling,"  said  Morgan, 
irritably.  Morgan  was  reading  the  latest  novel, 
and  was  frowning  over  the  pages  at  his  garrulous 
companions.  His  boots  were  level  with  the 
piazza  railing,  and  he  looked  the  picture  of  ease. 
"  Unless  a  fellow  buries  himself  in  his  room  or 
fairly  runs  away  on  the  water,  there  is  no  peace 
or  quiet  to  be  had  for  love  or  money.  How  do 
you  expect  me  to  have  the  least  knowledge  of 
this  book  in  the  midst  of  such  chinning  ?" 


2 So  Lida   Campbell,  or 

"  We  don't  expect  you  to  read,  my  dearest 
Herb,"  replied  Burnside,  calmly,  puffing  at  his 
cigar  in  undisturbed  comfort,  his  eyes  through 
the  trailing  vines  upon  the  distant  sails  far  away 
upon  the  Sound,  gleaming  white  in  the  sunlight. 
"  And  there  seems  to  be  much  more  hate  than 
love  in  this  mysterious  illness  of  Price.  What  is 
any  novel  compared  to  that?  I  have  had  my 
eyes  open.  I  am  no  kitten.  And  every  day  it 
grows  upon  my  mind  that  we  are  living  idly  in 
the  very  midst  of  a  romance  as  startling  as  the 
one  you  are  reading,  Morgan." 

"  Paling's  latest  has  unsettled  your  reason, 
Burnside,"  Newton  interposed,  with  a  gleam  of 
laughter  in  his  eyes.  "  But  if  your  romance  is 
anything  after  the  fashion  of  Paling's,  I  beg  to 
be  excused.  Actors  generally  are  consulted  as 
to  the  part  that  they  will  accept  in  a  drama,  and 
in  yours  I  decline.  Blue  lights  and  slow  music 
and  that  don't  become  my  complexion." 

"  You  haven't  any  complexion,"  retorted 
Burnside,  coolly,  eyeing  Newton  in  his  large. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  281 

calm  way.  "  Don't  lay  claim  to  that,  Neddie. 
Even  Miss  Dunbar  would  protest — " 

"We  will  not  draw  Miss  Dunbar  into  this 
conversation,"  said  Newton,  quietly,  but  with  a 
flash  in  his  eyes.  "  We  began  by  speaking  of 
Price's  illness,  and,  as  usual,  there  is  no  holding 
to  one  thread  of  thought." 

"  It's  like  the  Roman  Catacombs  or  the 
Labyrinth,"  added  Mayhew.  "  There  is  no  get- 
ting out  of  its  tangle,  and  we  are  sure  to  meet 
with  some  monster  that  will  devour  us  in  wrath. 
How  is  Price,  Hastings?  Of  course  you  have 
seen  him  this  morning?" 

"  As  any  of  you  can,  if  you  choose,"  replied 
Hastings,  unruffled  in  temper.  Things  were 
going  on  well  in  the  sick-room,  and  Tom  patted 
himself  in  mental  approval  for  his  part  in  the 
affair.  "  I  don't  see  why  you  fellows  are  not 
more  often  with  Price  anyway.  If  you  were 
shut  up  in  a  sick-room  during  this  exasperat- 
ingly  charming  weather,  I  rather  think  you 
would  be  grateful  for  a  little  attention.  Jack 


282  Lida  Campbell,  or 

gave  us  full  leave  to  sit  up  with  him  whenever 
Mrs.  Carmichael  will  allow." 

"  That  is  just  the  difficulty,"  Newton  said, 
laughing  shortly. 

"  Mrs.  Carmichael  uses  her  authority  with  a 
mighty  high  hand,  I  think.  She  refused  to  let 
me  see  Price  this  very  morning.  She  said  that 
she  preferred  waiting  until  the  doctor  comes. 
Price  is  no  worse,  so  far  as  she  can  say — those 
were  her  words — but  she  felt  that  it  was  best 
not  to  disturb  him  until  this  afternoon.  What 
do  you  think  of  that  for  nursely  authority,  if 
you  please,  Mr.  Hastings,  and  what  have  you  to 
say?" 

Burnside  whistled  low  and  long,  opening  his 
black  eyes  wide  in  astonishment.  Morgan 
shrugged  his  shoulders  suggestively.  Even 
Hastings  looked  surprised. 

"  I  went  up  early,"  he  said  ;  "  Perhaps  that  is 
the  reason,  Ned.  He  was  all  right  then.  I  saw 
him  myself,  and  he  said  that  he  slept  well  the 
latter  part  of  the  night ;  it  was  very  warm  dur- 
ing the  early  part  of  the  evening,  you  know,  and 


Drama  of  a  Life.  283 

he  was  restless.     I  don't  understand  why  Mrs. 
Carmichael  wouldn't  let  you  in." 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Newton,  sarcastically. 
"  I  thought  perhaps  you  might,  my  dear  boy. 
As  it  is  a  mystery  to  you  also,  I  accept  it  as 
such.  Madam  Carmichael  is  variable  in  temper 
it  may  be — nurses  are  sometimes.  It  doesn't 
specially  bother  me,  only  that  I  should  be  pleased 
to  have  some  explanation  regarding  Price." 

"  Which  you  will  not  have  until  the  authorities 
allow,"  said  Morgan,  with  supreme  unction. 
"  Possess  your  soul  in  patience,  my  dear  Ned. 
'  All  things  come  to  him  who  waits."  ' 

"  And  sometimes  to  him  who  demands  it  with- 
out patience,"  added  Newton,  in  considerable 
heat.  His  temper  was  out  of  sorts  because  of 
the  refusal  received  at  his  friend's  door,  and  it 
had  rankled  in  his  mind  until  he  was  undoubt- 
edly in  a  bad  humor,  which  was  not  improved 
by  hearing  that  Hastings  had  been  admitted 
when  he  was  denied. 

"  But  you  don't  seem  to  take  into  considera- 
tion that  Doctor  Jack  Graham  has  given 


284  Lida   Campbell,  or 

madam,  the  nurse,  supreme  authority,  Ned," 
suggested  May  hew,  evenly.  "  If  you  are  shut 
out,  so  are  the  rest  of  us,  excepting  Mr.  Hast- 
ings, the  doctor's  chum  and  nursie's  assistant. 
You  had  best  not  mind  it.  /don't." 

"  Well,  I  do  /"  retorted  Newton,  unappeased, 
although  he  smoked  in  furious  silence  fora  few 
moments  afterward  and  regained  an  outward 
show  of  calmness,  though  the  flash  in  his  eyes 
showed  that  he  was  still  inwardly  angry. 

But  had  he  known  what  passed  in  Price's 
room  that  afternoon  when  Doctor  Graham  made 
his  customary  call  upon  his  patient,  his  anger 
would  have  been  utterly  forgotten  in  extremity 
of  wonder ;  for  Mrs.  Carmichael  believed  that 
the  time  had  come  for  her  to  inform  the  physi- 
cian what  she  had  seen  and  heard  during  the 
past  two  nights. 

Graham  had   talked  with  Price,  assuring  him 

.that    he    was    fast    recovering    perfect    health, 

although  he  must  request   him  to  remain  in  his 

room  and  under  the  care  of  the  nurse  ;  and  after 

a  half-hour's  light  conversation,  he  passed    into 


Drama  of  a  Life.  285 

Mrs.  Carmichael's  room,  before  he  left,  as  was 
his  habit,  to  learn  from  her  if  there  were  any 
change  or  any  new  development. 

To  his  surprise,  he  did  not  find  her  resting 
upon  the  couch.  Usually  she  remained  upon 
the  couch  during  the  day,  excepting  when  she 
waited  upon  her  patient  or  served  his  meals. 
Now  she  was  evidently  waiting  the  physician's 
coming.  There  was  a  warm  flush  of  color  on 
her  cheeks  and  a  fire  in  her  dark  eyes  that  made 
her  beautiful  and  almost  young  in  spite  of  her 
snowy  hair. 

Graham  looked  at  her  in  unconcealed  surprise 
and  lurking  admiration.  She  saw  this  and 
smiled — a  flashing,  swift,  vanishing  parting  of 
the  lips  that  made  the  after  gravity  greater  by 
contrast.  She  controlled  her  excitement,  but  the 
slim  hands  would  flutter  slightly  when  at  first 
she  spoke. 

"  I  have  waited  for  you,  Doctor.  I  have  done 
my  best.  I  think  we  have  sufficient  proof — now. 
I  did  not  speak  yesterday,  and  you  will  under- 


286  Lida  Campbell,  or 

stand  why  when  I  have  finished  what  1  have  to 
tell  you." 

He  bade  her  with  quiet  authority  to  be  seated. 
He  saw  that  she  was  under  extreme  excitement 
and  she  mechanically  obeyed  him. 

"  I  felt  that  we  could  trust  to  your  perception 
and  discretion,  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  he  said,  in 
grave  approval. 

Their  voices  were  low  ;  no  one  outside  of  the 
room  could  overhear  ;  but  they  betrayed  no 
more  than  the  usual  formality  of  question  and 
answer  between  physician  and  nurse. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Mrs.  Carmichael, 
and  her  pretty  voice  was  now  softly  and  evenly 
modulated.  Doctor  Graham  did  not  wonder 
that  her  patients  trusted  her  so  implicitly  or  were 
easily  managed  when  under  her  care. 

"  But  now,"  added  Doctor  Graham,  in  his 
quiet,  professional  voice,  if  I  may  hear  what  you 
have  to  say,  Mrs.  Carmichael — " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Carmichael,  in  as  pro- 
fessional-like a  voice  as  his  own.  "  Have  you 
read  Mr.  Paling's  new  novel,  Doctor  Graham  ?" 


Drama  of  a  Life.  287 

The  physician  frowned. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  coldly.  "  I  fail  to  com- 
prehend why  you  should  refer  to  a  novel  in 
explaining  what  has  occurred  here,  Mrs.  Car- 
michael." 

"Pardon  me"  she  said,  softly;  and  uncon- 
sciously he  listened  attentively  for  every  word 
uttered  in  this  charming  voice;  "but  the  novel  is 
so  connected  with  what  has  occurred  here  that  I 
cannot  fail  to  refer  to  it,  Doctor." 

"  In  what  way?"  he  queried,  still  sternly. 

Her  hands  moved  in  the  pretty,  suggestive 
gesture  familiar  to  her  ;  her  voice  was  slow  and 
very  distinct. 

"In  the  way  that  it  was  written  for  this  end, 
Doctor  Graham."  ' 

He  started,  with  a  swift,  keen  glance  down 
into  her  bright  eyes.  Then  he  frowned  severely. 
There  must  be  no  romancing  in  this  serious  case. 
Fact  and  not  fancy  must  fashion  the  proofs  for 
which  they  were  working. 

"  Still,"  he  said,  sternly,  "  I  do  not  understand 
you,  Mrs.  Carmichael.  Perhaps  novels  are 


288  Li  da   Campbell,  or 

somewhat  out  of  my  line  of  life,  but  common 
sense  assures  me  that  only  in  imagination  could 
such  an  incident  exist." 

She  smiled. 

He  smiled  more  icily  in  exasperation. 

"  I  overheard  one  of  your  friend's  guests  speak- 
ing of  this  novel,  Doctor  Graham,"  the  nurse 
said  steadily,  in  explanation.  "/  have  been  wait- 
ing for  a  ne^u  novel  from  this  author  /  The  out- 
line, as  given  by  Mr.  Mayhew,  coincided  with 
my  expectations.  I  sent  for  the  novel  and  read 
it.  I  read  it  two  nights  ago,  while  sitting  with 
your  patient.  It  explained  many  things,  but  at 
the  same  time  I  was  afraid,  because  there  was  so 
little  pity  in  it !  Wait  one  moment!" 

He  was  rising  impatiently,  but  paused  at  her 
gesture. 

"  That  night,  Doctor  Graham,  I  had  a  visitor 
—a  midnight  visitor.  More  properly  speaking,  I 
should  have  said  a  visitor  to  your  patient.  This 
was  a  woman.  She  did  not  enter.  She  stood 
upon  the  balcony  yonder  and  looked  in  at  the 


Drama  of  a  Life.  289 

windows.  I  made  my  presence  known,  and  she 
went  away." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  for 
the  first  time  betraying  excitement.  "And  what 
then?  Who  was  she,  Mrs.  Carmichael  ?" 

"You  will  know,"  said  Mrs.  Carmichael, 
quietly,  "  when  I  have  finished,  Doctor  Graham. 
You  will  know — as  I  knew!  Whoever  she  was, 
she  came  and  went  in  a  carriage,  /knew  her  by 
the  power  of  her  eyes.  She  has  marvelous  men- 
tal power,  as  I  have  reason  to  know. 

"  Last  night  another  visitor  came.  Not  this 
woman — not  any  woman.  A  man  of  this  house- 
hold. I  was  here — watching — for  I  expected 
some  one  after  the  woman's  presence.  He  came, 
and  I  watched  him  unobserved.  The  Jight 
from  the  lamp  strikes  clearly  across  from  the 
bed  to  the  unlocked  door.  He  came  in  that 
way.  He  came  for  a  purpose.  Look  here  !" 

She  arose  and  he  arose  with  her,  for  the  moment 
controlled  by  her  excitement.  She  crossed  to 
the  table  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and 


290  Li  da   Campbell,  or 

uncovered    the    silver    water-pitcher  which  she 
had  removed  from  the  patient's  room. 

Graham  glanced  at  the  contents  and  then  at 
her.  He  was  half  annoyed  and  half  startled  by 
her  manner  and  words,  for  he  could  not  believe 
that  she  told  him  this  to  show  him  nothing  but 
the  drinking  water  which  had  been  in  Price's 
room  all  night.  Her  meaning  did  not  at  once 
enter  his  mind. 

"You  do  not  comprehend,  Doctor,"  she  said, 
her  voice  falling  almost  to  a  whisper,  for  an 
instant  laying  one  hand  upon  his  arm,  her  eyes 
upon  his  as  though  she  would  impress  him  with 
her  truth.  "  You,  being  a  physician,  will  be 
able  to  say  whether  or  not  this  is  harmless,  but 
the  man  who  entered  last  night  poured  into  this 
water  the  entire  contents  of  a  vial  which  he 
carried.  It  left  no  color,  no  odor,  but — is  it 
harmless  f" 

He  comprehended  now.  He  called  himself 
inwardly  an  insufferable  fool  not  to  have 
guessed  her  meaning  at  once.  Had  they  not 
been  waiting  and  watching  for  just  this  thing? 


Drama  of  a  Life.  291 

With  a  swift  gesture  of  impatience,  his  eyes 
met  those  of  the  quiet  nurse. 

44  Bring  me  a  small  bottle,"  he  said,  in  swift 
command.  l(  I  shall  take  a  part  of  this  with  me, 
Mrs.  Carmichael,  and  discover  beyond  doubt 
whether  or  not  it  is  harmless.  But  I  think,1'  he 
added  to  himself,  his  eyes  bent  intently  upon 
the  fateful  pitcher  as  he  waited  for  the  return  of 
the  nurse — "  I  think  that  we  shall  prove  it  not 
harmless,  but  the  devil's  own  drug  of  death !" 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

ACTORS   IN  A   DRAMA. 

But,  plot  as  I  may,  I  can  find  no  way 

How  a  blow  should  fall,  such  as  falls  on  men. 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 

Walker  Paling  returned  to  the  city  sooner 
than  he  expected  when  he  started  upon  his  sum- 
mer's vacation.  He  had  traveled  through  the 
West  for  recreation,  and  also  for  subject-matter 
for  a  novel.  He  met  a  few  of  his  friends  in  dif- 


292  Li  da   Campbell,  or 

ferent  cities  where  he  stopped,  and  made  many 
new  ones,  but  he  was  restless  and  dissatisfied. 
Nothing  pleased  him  for  long.  The  people  and 
the  scenery — delightful  people,  beautiful  scenery 
—lost  their  interest  to  him  after  the  very  first. 

His  nature,  his  character,  his  life  itself,  seemed 
to  have  changed  with  the  completion  of  that  last 
novel.  It  filled  his  thoughts — haunted  him  con- 
tinually. He  could  not  shake  it  off,  try  as  he 
would.  It  was  planned  for  a  purpose.  He 
knew  it.  This  was  as  true  to  him  as  was  the 
fact  that  the  appearance  of  the  novel  had 
increased  his  reputation.  It  was  read  and  crit- 
icised, and  he  was  criticised.  He  knew  that, 
too.  At  times  he  believed  that  it  was  no  novel ; 
that  it  was  real  life  ;  that  he  was  the  hero. 

At  such  times  he  felt  a  morbid  certainty  that 
he  could  only  dispel  with  a  fierce  struggle,  that 
he  was  going  mad ;  that  his  overtaxed  brain 
could  endure  no  more,  and*  had  given  way 
before  the  intensity  of  this  blow.  Physically  he 
had  changed  very  much  as  well  as  mentallj-. 
The  easy  conversational  powers  that  made  him 


Drama  of  a  Life.  203 

such  a  charming  companion  before  were 
replaced  by  a  gravity  that  was  almost  depress- 
ing. Sometimes  he  would  even  start  when  he 
was  addressed,  as  though  his  mind  was  wander- 
ing so  far  that  it  was  painful  to  recall  it.  These 
things  were  noted  arid  criticised,  as  well  as  the 
peculiarities  of  his  novel.  And  in  this  way  he 
grew  to  shun  society,  and  by  degrees  drifted 
back  to  New  York  much  sooner  than  he  had 
planned  to  do. 

The  greater  number  of  his  friends  were  among 
the  mountains  or  at  the  seashore,  and  the  popu- 
lar novelist  lived  very  quietly  in  his  suite  of 
rooms  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel.  But  it  would 
have  been  much  better  for  him  to  have  continued 
in  his  travelling,  for  the  quiet  life  increased  rather 
than  diminished  his  gloomy  train  of  thought  and 
his  excessive  nervousness.  He  prepared  notes 
for  a  new  manuscript,  but  did  even  this  in  such 
a  spasmodic,  disjointed  fashion  as  to  tend  to 
intensify  his  already  unsettled  mind. 

He  was  growing  irritable  in  temper  and  diffi- 
cult to  please.  Downing  often  assured  himself 


294  Lida   Campbell,   or 

that  he  would  endure  such  a  life  no  longer ;  but 
Downing  was  attached  to  his  master,  and  the 
threat  passed  harmlessly.  Then,  one  day,  as  late 
summer  was  almost  imperceptibly  merging  into 
autumn,  a  new  shock  changed  the  entire  course 
of  Walker  Paling's  life.  And  yet,  when  it  came 
upon  him,  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  for  this 
he  had  been  waiting  all  summer.  It  fell  upon 
him  suddenly,  and  left  him  stunned  for  a  time 
but  he  rose  out  of  it  a  new  man,  stronger,  nobler 
and  more  self-reliant.  It  was  terrible,  but  neces- 
sary to  his  future  happiness. 

Paling  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  aimlessly  turning 
over  the  neatly  cut  slips  upon  which  his  notes 
were  written  ;  he  was  reading  fragments  of  them 
as  he  ran  them  over  in  his  hands,  adding  to  this 
one  or  that  as  he  thought  advisable.  He  was 
arguing  with  himself  whether  or  not  he  should 
begin  upon  this  new  manuscript  at  once  or  leave 
it  until  his  mind  was  more  clear. 

As  the  latter  thought  came  to  him  he  smiled 
bitterly,  thinking  how  hopeless  it  was  that  ever 
his  mind  should  clear  of  the  shadow  upon  it. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  295 

And  then  it  was  that  Downing  entered,  announc- 
ing that  there  were  callers  for  his  master. 

Paling  frowned  impatiently,  and  bade  his  man 
say  that  he  was  engaged  and  would  not  be 
disturbed.  They  were  no  friends  of  his,  Down- 
ing assured  him — no  one  whom  he  had  ever  seen, 
so  far  as  he  could  remember,  and  why  should  he 
be  troubled  by  strangers  when  he  could  scarcely 
endure  the  presence  of  his  friends  under  such 
circumstances  as  the  present? 

But  Downing  found  it  rather  more  difficult  to 
detain  the  callers  than  such  a  simple  duty  had 
seemed.  They  firmly  refused  to  leave  without 
seeing  Paling,  and  hearing  the  continued  con- 
versation at  the  door,  Paling  himself,  greatly 
annoyed,  passed  into  his  sitting-roorn  that  he 
might  inform  these  troublesome  callers  that  he 
could  not  be  detained  from  his  work.  But  as  he 
entered  from  his  inner  room,  those  at  the  outer 
door  would  not  be  put  off  by  the  valet,  but 
entered  very  quietly  and  with  an  authority  that 
he  dared  not  resist.  The  astonished  and  rather 


296  Lida   Campbell,   or 

angry  novelist  paused  half-way  across  the  room, 
eyeing  the  intruders. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  one  of  the  strangers, 
courteously,  but  with  that  peculiarly  impressive 
air  of  authority  that  made  itself  felt  from  the  first. 
"  This  is  Mr.  Paling,  I  believe?" 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir,"  was  the  cold  reply. 
"  May  I  inquire  what  brought  you  here  in  my 
private  room  in  this  strange  manner  ?" 

The  stranger  bowed.  He  made  a  deprecating 
gesture  with  one  hand,  and  his  gray  eyes 
darkened. 

"  I  came  to  explain  my  errand,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  If  you  will  grant  us  a  few  moments'  private 
conversation  with  you,  you  shall  hear  what 
brought  us  to  you." 

The  angry  frown  deepened  upon  Palings 
brow.  Half  scornfully  he  motioned,  to  ward  the 
inner  room. 

"  What  possible  private  conversation  you  can 
have  with  me,"  he  said,  haughtily,  "  I  cannot 
imagine,  gentlemen.  But  you  are  at  liberty  to 
make  your  errand  known." 


Drama  of  a  Life.  297 

"  1  shall  make  it  known  in  as  few  words  as 
possible,"  said  the  stranger,  quietly.  "  I  have 
met  you,  Mr.  Paling,  but  doubtless  you  have 
forgotten  me.  It  was  only  during  one  evening, 
and  you  meet  too  many  people  to  remember  one. 
My  name  is  Graham — Doctor  Graham,  as  you 
will  see  by  this  card."  With  the  same  quiet, 
courteous  authority,  he  laid  a  strip  of  card  upon 
the  desk  near  which  he  stood,  for  he  would  not 
accept  Paling's  cold  request  for  them  to  be 
seated. 

"  My  friend  is  Doctor  Farwell,  Mr.  Paling. 
We  are  residents  of  the  town  in  Connecticut 
where  a  friend  of  yours  has  an  estate.  I  think, 
even  though  you  have  forgotten  me,  you  have 
not  forgotten  Lee  Price  ?" 

A  slow,  deep  red  dawned  in  Paling's  face, 
and  for  an  instant  his  eyes  wavered  before 
Doctor  Graham's  flashing,  steady  gaze.  Then 
in  a  tide  came  over  him  the  remembrance  of 
what  he  had  endured,  how  much  he  had  suffered 
through  the  sister  of  Lee  Price,  and  with 


298  Lida   Campbell,  or 

clenched  hands  and  eyes  burning  with  anger,  he 
turned  upon  them. 

"  Have  I  forgotten  Lee  Price  ?"  he  demanded, 
with  sternly  suppressed  passion.  "  Ask  me  if  I 
have  forgotten  the  brother  of  the  devil,  and  I 
shall  answer  :  '  No  !'  Ask  me  if  I  have  forgotten 
the  subtle  poison  oi  a  serpent  that  once  has 
stung  me  and  'No!'  and  '  No  /'  I  shall  still 
reply  !  The  name  signifies  to  me  the  culmina- 
tion of  every  evil  under  the  sun  !" 

The  two  physicians  stood  silent  and  motion- 
less, during  this  outburst  of  passion.  They  had 
anticipated  possible  anger  upon  the  part  of  the 
novelist,  but  anger  toward  themselves,  not 
toward  the  woman  who  had  left  her  home  for 
him. 

"  I  regret  if  I  have  wakened  unpleasant 
memories,  Mr.  Paling,"  said  Graham,  gravely, 
"  but  we  have  a  mystery  to  clear  up,  and  you 
are  the  one  to  whom  to  come,  I  believe.  You 
have  recently  issued  a  novel,  under  the  peculiar 
title  of  '  The  Drama  of  a  Life.'  Of  course,  you 
know  that  it  has  created  a  good  deal  of  criticism. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  299 

I  have  not  come  to  tell  you  this.  But  I  under- 
stand that  it  was  written  under  strange  circum- 
stances. Also  " — very  distinctly  and  slowly  he 
spoke — "  that  it  was  written  for  a  purpose.  Is 
this  true,  Mr.  Paling  ?" 

For  a  moment  the  novelist's  face  turned  deadly 
pale,  and  he  reached  out  his  hand  to  steady 
himself  at  the  desk  ;  then,  with  a  strong  effort 
he  regained  his  self-control,  and  answered  them. 
His  voice  sounded  strange  and  constrained, 
even  to  himself. 

"  One's  work  always  should  be  for  a  purpose, 
Doctor  Graham,"  he  said.  "  In  that  respect,  1 
trust  that  my  work  is  not  different  from  that  of 
others,  and  I  fail  to  recognize  your  right  to 
interfere  with  either  my  work  or  myself." 

Doctor  Graham  bowed  gravely. 

"  1  have  asked  your  pardon,  Mr.  Paling,"  he 
said.  "  We  come  under  peculiar  circumstances. 
Lee  Price  has  been  ill  from  the  effect  of  most 
subtle  poison  administered  by  a  member  of  his 
household,  who  was  bribed  by  Olive  Price,  the 
woman  who  has  so  long  passed  as  your  wife — 


300  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  Who  is  my  wife  !"  interrupted  Paling,  in  a 
low  tone,  his  hands  falling  to  his  side,  a  painful 
expression  of  pride  and  humiliation  and  sorrow 
in  his  eyes. 

Graham's  face  changed  instantly.  His  gesture 
of  entreaty  for  pardon  was  swift  and  kindly. 

"  I  regret  my  hasty  words,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
peculiarly  gentle.  "  I  judged  from  rumor,  Mr. 
Paling.  But  what  I  wished  to  say  is  very 
simple  truth.  We  are  led  to  believe,  from  this 
hovel  of  yours,  whose  plot  is  so  remarkably  like 
the  real  plot,  that  you  planned  this  act,  or  wrote 
it,  under  the  influence  of — "  slightest  hesitation, 
the  faintest  pause — "  your  wife  !  This  latter 
charge  is  made  by  one  who  has  reason  to  know 
her  power,  and  we  call  upon  you  to  hear  what 
you  have  to  say  in  answer.  It  is  a  grave  matter, 
in  which  a  life  lay  in  the  balance  against  death, 
but  we  grant  you  the  opportunity  to  clear  your- 
self, if  you  can.  I  trust  that  it  will  be  possible 
for  you  to  do  so." 

"  The  evidence  is  unmistakable,  regarding  the 
attempted  poisoning,"  added  Doctor  Farwell, 


Drama  of  a  Life,  301 

quietly.  "  The  proof  must  be  as  powerful,  to 
clear  those  who  are  accused  of  the  act." 

Paling  drew  himself  up  haughtily.  His  eyes 
were  dark  with  anger  once  more.  All  trace  of 
humiliation  was  gone. 

"  Why  should  you  accuse  me  of  such  an  act  ?" 
he  demanded,  fiercely.  "  Because  I  write  of 

• 

murder  and  plan  such  deeds  in  fiction  as  any 
novelist  does,  is  it  necessary  that  I  should 
attempt  them  in  real  life  ?  Pardon  me,  gentle- 
men, but  your  zeal  over-balances  your  good 
judgment." 

"  Our  grounds  for  the  accusation,"  said  Doctor 
Graham,  evenly,  still  instinctively  respecting  the 
proud  man  before  them,  "  are  the  knowledge  that 
you  first  planned  this  deed  in  your  novel  and 
that  the  woman  who  has  assisted  you  in  the 
composition — pardon  me  again  for  referring  to 
your  wife — of  much  of  your  work  is  the  woman 
who  desires  her  brother's  death.  The  proof  is 
very  clear  and  looks  rather  black  for  you. 
Where  is " — that  slight  pause  between  the 
words — "your  wife?" 


302  Li  da   Campbell,  or 

Paling,  sensitive  upon  this  subject  very  evi- 
dently, frowned  darkly  and  his  hands  again  were 
clenched. 

"  But  I  swear  to  you,  gentlemen — "  he  began, 
vehemently,  yet  as  though  he  was  speaking 
between  his  teeth.  Then  he  paused.  Speech 
died  upon  his  lips.  His  self-defense  fell  flat 
before  the  accusing  presence  of  the  woman  her- 
self. 

She  entered  among  them,  pallid  and  silent,  her 
eyes  looking  miles  beyond  them,  utterly  oblivi- 
ous of  them  as  she  paused  in  the  doorway,  no 
sound  betraying  her  presence. 

"  Mrs.  Paling  !"  exclaimed  Jack  Graham,  under 
his  breath,  falling  back  a  step  as  he  saw  her. 

Doctor  Farwell  said  nothing,  but  quick  com- 
prehension of  the  scene  flashed  upon  him. 

"  Olive !  Olive  !"  Paling  muttered,  in  a 
smothered  voice,  as  though  he  felt  that  there  was 
no  hope  for  him  when  she  was  near.  His  pride  and 
anger  died  away.  The  gloomy  despair  on  his 
face  was  pathetic.  It  moved  even  the  physicians 


Drama  of  a  Life.  303 

to  sympathy.  They  knew  enough  of  the  woman 
to  give  him  their  pity  unasked. 

"  1  have  heard  your  accusation,"  the  woman 
said,  in  her  slow,  soft  voice,  looking  at  no  one 
but  Paling,  and  upon  his  eyes  her  own  burned 
intensely.  "  I  have  come,  Walker  Paling,  to 
prevent  your  perfidy.  Just  now  you  would 
have  sworn  to  a  lie  had  I  not  known  of  your 
intention  and  thwarted  you  !  Listen  !  My 
brother  is  poisoned  !  Perhaps  he  is  dead  at  this 
moment!  I  hope  that  this  is  so  !  There  is  no 
love  between  us — nothing  but  hate  !  He  hates 
me  as  much  as  such  a  weak  nature  can  hate  ;  and 
I" — she  spread  out  her  hands  toward  them  in  a 
passionate  gesture,  though  her  eyes  never 
moved  from  Paling's  eyes — "  I  hate  him  so 
fiercely  that  with  my  own  hands  I  could  poison 
him — strangle  him — be  rid  of  him  in  any  way  so 
that  he  be  dead  ! 

"  You  swore  to  me  that  he  should  die  !  You 
wrote  this  novel  for  me  that  the  world  might 
learn  the  ancient  art  of  secret  poisoning !  / 
learned  it  under  the  tuition  of  a  friend.  I  kept 


304  Lido,   Campbell,  or 

the  knowledge  to  myself  until  I  thought  the 
world  should  know.  There  are  many  people 
who  would  be  better  dead.  Death  is  easy  to 
arrange  if  one  is  patient.  I  gave  you  my 
knowledge  of  poisonous  drugs  that  you  might 
know  what  to  do  when  the  time  arrived.  You 
have  your  novel ;  the  plot  was  excellent ;  but  the 
novel  was  nothing  without  the  act  which  fol- 
lowed. You  were  to  be  the  hero  of  a  real 
drama — as  you  knew !  When  the  act  is  com- 
pleted you  shall  answer  the  accusation — for  you 
are  guilty!" 

Paling's  face  was  covered  by  his  hands.  That 
old  belief  that  had  been  with  him  so  constantly 
that  the  novel  was  but  a  dream,  and  he  was  the 
actual  actor  in  an  actual  drama  returned  upon 
him,  and  he  had  no  word  to  offer  in  self-defense 
— did  not  even  know  to  a  certainty  whether  or 
not  he  were  guilty  as  the  woman  said.  He  was 
utterly  humiliated.  His  hands  trembled  with 
agitation.  His  lips  could  frame  no  word.  Was 
that  proof,  he  asked  himself,  that  he  committed 
this  act? 


Drama  of  a  Life.  305 

But  as  she  finished,  Paling  turned  upon  her  in 
concentrated  desperation  and  humiliation.  She 
was  his  wife  as  he  had  affirmed  to  these  men. 
The  truth  was  never  spoken  for  she  refused  with 
her  tiger  fierceness  to  be  claimed  as  his  wife,  but 
she  was  his  wife,  and  he  must  defend  her  honor 
against  any  slur  upon  it !  His  eyes  did  not 
flinch  from  hers  now. 

"  Olive  !"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  proved  his 
powerful  self-restraint.  "  Olive,  can  you  not  be 
merciful  ?  Have  I  not  obeyed  you  up  to  this 
last  command?  Could  I  commit  murder  even 
for  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said  coldly,  with  a  scornful  ges- 
ture. "  If  I  desire  it,  \Valker  Paling.  My 
power  over  you  is  always  supreme.  I  came  to 
you  from  the  border  of  the  spirit-land  ;  how 
could  you  successfully  combat  an  ambassador  of 
justice  from  heaven  ?  You  accomplished  my 
design,  but  you  are  no  murderer.  My  brother 
poisoned  my  father.  Belladonna  is  powerful 
when  rightly  used.  This  act  was  justice,  for 
my  father  often  made  my  mother  unhappy. 


306  Lida  Campbell,  or 

Should  my  brother  die  would  not  that,  too,  be 
justice  ?  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  the  novel 
would  be  useless  did  it  not  impel  others  to  like 
action?" 

A  smothered  groan  was  his  only  answer. 
Could  he  truthfully  say  that  this  was  not  so  ? 
Her  flaming  eyes  were  upon  his ;  what  could  he 
answer? 

But  as  Doctor  Graham,  up  to  this  time  a  silent 
listener  with  his  companion,  stepped  forward  to 
lay  a  detaining  hand  upon  the  woman's  arm,  she 
turned  without  a  trace  of  haste,  and  crossing  the 
outer  room  before  they  could  stop  her,  she 
passed  through  the  door  and  was  gone,  leaving 
them  gazing  blankly  at  the  closed  door. 

"  We  shall  make  no  scene,"  said  Doctor  Gra- 
ham quietly,  turning  upon  the  motionless  novel- 
ist, "  but  we  must  hold  you  to  answer  this  charge, 
Mr.  Paling." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

DEVELOPMENTS. 

Knowledge  and  power  have  rights  ; 
But  ignorance  and  weakness  have  rights,  too. 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 

"  By  the  lord  Harry  !" 

Ned  Newton  sank  down  upon  an  upturned 
box  just  outside  the  entrance  to  the  stables  and 
eyed  his  friends  in  consternation  and  admira- 
tion. Burnside  and  Morgan  and  Mayhew  were 
loitering  about  the  stable  doors  deep  in  the 
exciting  mysteries  of  horses  and  their  habits. 

At  Newton's  exclamation  they  turned  to  him 
for  an  explanation.  It  was  not  usual  for  Mr. 
Ned  Newton  to  be  in  such  a  state  of  extreme 
excitement.  He  was  fanning  himself  with  his 
hat  and  panting  with  absurd  exaggeration,  nod- 

[307] 


308  Lida   Campbell,  or 

ding-  his  head  now  and  then  in  emphatic  approval 
of  himself  and  his  conduct. 

"  And  pray,  what's  the  matter  with  the  lord 
Harry  or  the  old  Harry,  Ned  ?"  queried  Morgai^ 
in  some  impatience  at  his  friend's  silence.  "  One 
might  think  that  you  had  tumbled  from  the  skies 
in  a  whirlwind,  from  the  way  you  came  among 
us." 

"  And  one  might  think  much  worse  and  go  a 
good  deal  further  from  the  truth,"  retorted 
Newton,  scornfully.  "  I  have  made  a  discovery  !" 

"  The  deuce  you  have  !"  exclaimed  Mayhew, 
laughing.  "  Has  it  anything  to  do  with  gravi- 
tation or  the  laws  of  attraction  and  force  ?" 

"  Hush!"  said  Burnside,  authoritatively.  "  Don't 
rattle  the  modern  Newton  !  Listen  and  learn, 
little  boy,  of  the  great  discoverer  !" 

"  It  is  well  enough  to  joke  about  it  now,  if  you 
choose,"  said  Newton,  with  an  expressive  ges- 
ture ;  "  but  it  is  really  no  joking  matter,  you 
fellows.  It  is  only  a  morsel  of  real  fact  that  I 
can  tell  you,  but  that  was  enough  for  me  to  see 
through  the  whole  mystery.  If  you  care  to  hear 


Drama  of  a  Life.  309 

it,  I'll  tell  you  ;  if  you  don't,  all  that  you  have  to 
do  is  to  say  so,  and  I'll  let  you  alone." 

"  But  we  do  want  to  hear,  of  course,  Ned," 
said  Mayhew,  gravely.  "  The  very  smallest 
morsel  that  will  clear  up  this  mystery  will  be 
most  gratefully  received  by  me." 

"  And  the  rest  of  us,"  added  Morgan,  with 
equal  gravity. 

"Well!"  Newton  threw  one  leg  over  the 
other  knee  and  clasped  his  hands  around  it  in 
his  favorite  attitude  when  interested  or  excited. 
"  We  all  have  seen  Price's  strange  illness. 
Maybe  we  have  had  our  suspicions  of  the  cause, 
but  none  of  us,  unless  it  was  Hastings,  positively 
knew  if  there  was  anything  wrong  about  that 
matter.  Graham  has  acted  rather  scarce  about 
it  and  kept  a  close  mouth,  but  it  is  my  opinion 
that  the^  whole  thing  is  a  sort  off-stage  drama, 
with  Price  as  hero,  Graham  and  Tom  as  the 
friends,  and  Conyers  as  the  villain.  I've  had  my 
eyes  open  from  the  beginning,  and  I  think  that 
it  is,  all  though,  a  rather  funny  business." 

"  I  suppose  that  you  mean    poisoning   by  the 


310  Lida  Campbell,  or 

wicked  uncle,  or  some  such  nursery  rhyme," 
Morgan  interposed,  sarcastically.  "  Don't  stray 
into  the  drama  and  we  may  believe  you, 
Newton." 

"  You  can  believe  me  or  not,  as  you  choose," 
said  Newton,  with  sturdy  conviction.  "If  you 
haven't  imagined  some  such  thing  yourself, 
Morgan,  it's  simply  because  you  are  too 
stupid !" 

Morgan  flushed  and  started  forward,  but 
Burnside  reached  out  one  long  arm  easily  and 
detained  him,  drawing  down  his  black  brows 
heavily. 

"  Go  on,  Ned,"  he  said,  calmly.  "  Don't  be 
wrathy,  Herb.  Children  and  fools  will  some- 
times tell  the  truth !" 

"And  you  can  shut  up  your  ears,  if  you  don't 
want  to  hear,"  said  Newton,  cooll)\  "  But 
there's  this  about  Price  :  I  came  through  the 
upper  hall  just  now,  and  as  I  passed  his  door  I 
heard  pretty  considerable  talking  inside.  Con- 
yers  was  there,  I  know,  and  Tom  and  Jack — 
though  /  didn't  see  Graham  come — and  a 


Drama  of  a  Life.  3  i  i 

woman's  voice — the  nurse,  1  suppose  !  It  was 
decidedly  unusual,  but  I  didn't  consider  it  my 
business  to  inquire  into  it,  so  I  came  down- 
stairs. 

"  As  I  came  along  around  the  back  of  the 
house,  as  a  short  cut  out  here,  I  found  that  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  excitement  in  the  servants' 
hall  also !  Of  course,  this  was  too  much  for  my 
curiosity,  so  I  stopped  to  inquire  the  cause." 

He  paused  to  recover  breath  after  this  rapid 
utterance,  but  Burnside  interrogated  impa- 
tiently : 

"Well?" 

"  Well !"  Newton  arose,  shaking  himself  with 
exasperating  nonchalance.  "  Children  and  fools 
do  sometimes  know  enough  to  keep  their  knowl- 
edge to  themselves,  Rob!  As  to  what  followed 
my  inquiries,  you  fellows  will  have  to  discover 
for  yourselves.  It  is  worth  your  while  to  inves- 
tigate the  matter,  but,  as  for  me,  I  am  really  too 
much  latigued  with  the  weight  of  the  truth  to 
tell  you  more.  How  is  Black  Jess  getting  on, 


312  Li  da    Campbell,   or 

Jim  ?  Have  her  groomed  and  saddled  for  me, 
please,  at  two  this  afternoon.  That's  my  lad  !" 

And  dexterously  removing  a  silver  quarter 
from  his  pocket  to  the  boy's  hand,  Newton 
turned  back,  whistling,  toward  the  house,  leav- 
ing his  friends  in  a  state  of  indignation  at  his 
indifference. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  his  '  discovery  '  amounts 
to  that !"  said  Morgan,  contemptuously  snapping 
his  fingers. 

"  It  is  just  one  of  his  funny  jokes,"  added  May- 
hew,  with  a  good-natured  laugh,  after  a  moment 
of  anger.  "  This  mystery  regarding  Price 
bothers  Ned  constantly,  and  he  is  obliged  to 
amuse  himself  manufacturing  solutions,  or  he 
would  become  insane.  It  is  a  harmless  amuse- 
ment." 

"  Harmless  to  him,  perhaps,"  growled  Burn- 
side,  "  but  decidedly  dangerous  to  the  temper  of 
the  others,  let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Mayhew.  It 
won't  pay  to  try  it  on  me  many  times." 

But  Mayhew  was  not  to  be  moved  from  his 
good  nature,  and  only  dipped  his  hands  deep 


Drama  of  a  Life.  3  1 3 

into  his  pockets  and  strolled  towards  the  boat- 
house,  softly  whistling  a  bar  from  the  latest 
popular  song. 

"  That's  just  like  Mayhew,"  said  Morgan, 
crossly.  "  I  suppose  Miss  Kitty  Florence  has 
something  to  do  with  his  good  spirits,  for  he  has 
been  untiring  in  his  attentions  to  her  lately." 

"  If  she  is  the  cause,"  said  Burnside,  philosoph- 
ically, "  doubtless  he  is  of  the  opinion  that  Miss 
Harte  has  used  you  meanly,  Herb,  considering 
your  temper." 

"  Which  is  no  worse  than  you  own,"  retorted 
Morgan,  industriously  chewing  a  wisp  of  hay,  as 
he  leaned  against  the  stable  entrance  and  eyed 
his  companion  with  a  challenging  look. 

"  That's  so,"  replied  Burnside,  readily,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  also  recovering  his  good 
humor.  It's  not  worth  quarreling  about,  Herb." 

"  No,"  said  Herb,  sullenly  ;  "  I  suppose  not, 
Burnside.  But  I  won't  stand  much  of  that  from 
him." 

And  peace  was  restored  among  themselves,  if 
not  in  the  master's  room. 


3 1 4  Lida  Campbell,  or 

The  windows  of  this  room  were  open  to  the 
early  autumn  winds,  that  crept  in  so  softly  it 
seemed  impossible  to  believe  that  summer  had 
slipped  by,  the  late  garden-flowers  making  the 
air  still  delicate  with  perfume.  There  was  the 
faintest  tinge  of  richer  color  on  the  myriad 
leaves  rustling  outside,  and  the  piazza  vines 
swung  pathetically  from  the  pillars  to  and  fro, 
very  softly  after  a  heavy  rain. 

Peace  outside,  but  tumult  in  the  hearts  of 
those  within  the  large,  cool  room. 

The  young  master  was  sitting  in  the  reclining- 
chair  near  one  of  the  long  windows,  looking  re- 
markably well  for  an  invalid,  and  Doctor 
Graham  stood  beside  him,  with  one  hand  on  the 
back  of  his  chair  the  other  unconsciously  used 
to  emphasize  his  words.  Tom  Hastings,  with 
his  back  against  the  door,  was  listening  excitedly 
-  to  what  Graham  was  saying.  Mrs.  Leonard,  the 
housekeeper,  was  standing  a  little  back  with  Mrs. 
Carmichael,  the  nurse.  Mrs.  Estabrook  had 
returned  to  her  home  on  being  assured  by  the 
physician  that  her  nephew  would  recover. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  3 1 5 

"  And  this  is  what  you  have  been  doing — you 
and  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  said  Price,  slowly,  his 
eyes  flashing  upon  his  friend  ; — "  and  Tom  !  I 
owe  you  my  life — you  three  !  How  can  1  ever 
repay  it  ?  " 

"  By  taking  better  care  of  it  in  the  future,  my 
dear  boy,"  replied  Graham,  laughing.  "  But  it 
is  to  Mrs.  Carmichael  much  more  than  to  Tom 
or  me  that  you  owe  your  life.  She  came  to  me 
with  a  most  important  disclosure  when  I  was 
almost  despairing  of  ever  truly  benefiting  you. 
But  before  I  explain  this  part  of  the  plot,  I 
should  like  to  call  in  one  or  two  of  your  servants, 
Price.  You  have  not  yet  been  fully  enlightened." 

A  shadow  touched  the  young  man's  face  lifted 
to  his  friend.  His  eyes  darkened  and  flashed. 
He  raised  one  hand  as  though  in  protest,  and 
then,  commanding  his  momentary  emotion,  he 
said,  quietly : 

"  Call  in  any  one  whom  you  desire,  Jack.  I 
am  in  your  debt  so  deeply  that  this  is  little 
indeed  to  grant.  Still,  I  hope,"  deeper  gravity  in 
his  voice, "  I  do  sincerely  hope  that  you  have  dis- 


316  Lida   Campbell,   or 

covered  nothing  against  Conyers.  He  has  been  a 
faithful  fellow,  Graham.  I  know  that  you  do  not 
like  him  ;  that  you  distrusted  him.  You  showed 
that  plainly  from  the  first.  I  trust  that  you  have 
learned  of  your  injustice." 

Graham  frowned.  He  closed  his  lips  sternly 
as  he  turned  towards  the  bell-cord.  But  when 
he  turned  back  to  his  friend,  his  [face  was  very 
gentle. 

"  So  far  as  lies  in  my  power,  Lee,"  he  said, 
"  no  injustice  shall  be  done  to  any  one.  In  such 
a  matter  as  this,  one  is  sometimes  forced  by  cir- 
cumstances to  suspect  even  one's  own  people." 

"  Yes,"  said  Price,  in  a  low  voice,  his  face  for 
an  instant  turned  aside.  "  I  know  that,  Jack. 
But  I  know  that  you  do  not  like  Conyers,  and  I 
have  found  him  always  faithful.  He  is  a  man  of 
few  words,  but  I  feel  assured  that  many  times  I 
should  have  yielded  to  the  influence  of  this  drug 
but  for  him.  He  was  ready  day  or  night  to 
attend  me." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Doctor  Graham,  concisely. 
"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,  Price,  nor  of  the  kind- 


Drama  of  a  Life.  3 1 7 

ness  that  prompts  you  to  intercede  for  him.  At 
present,  however,  I  must  use  my  own  judgment 
and  knowledge." 

Price  bowed. 

"  I  should  not  complain  of  that,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "  Do  as  you  think  best,  Jack.  I  am 
sure  that  will  be  well." 

Emma  came  in  answer  to  Doctor  Graham's 
ring,  and  was  sent  to  summon  Conyers  and  also 
to  return  herself  with  him.  The  girl  was  evi- 
dently startled  by  this  summons,  but  turned  at 
once  to  obey  the  order,  glancing  once  in  a  half- 
frightened  way  toward  the  quiet  nurse,  whose 
eyes  were  upon  her  with  peculiar  keenness. 

Doctor  Graham,  now  constantly  on  the  alert; 
saw  this  glance,  but  did  not  betray  his  knowl- 
edge. Presently  he  would  unmask  the  actors 
in  this  drama,  and  he  could  wait  until  the 
moment  arrived  to  ring  down  the  curtain  and 
end  the  play.  He  smiled  grimly,  thinkingof  this  ; 
and  as  Mrs.  Carmichael's  bright  eyes  turned 
from  the  girl,  they  caught  this  hard  smile,  and 
her  eyes  fell  to  the  gentler  face  of  his  friend, 


318  Lida  Campbell,  or 

very  pale  but  strong  and  true,  among  the  cush- 
ions of  his  chair ;  and  the  quiet  light  returned  to 
her  face  and  eyes.  She  could  wait. 

"  I  summoned  you,  Conyers,"  Doctor  Graham 
said,  sternly,  as  the  valet  entered  the  room  in 
his  usual  silent,  respectful,  unembarrassed  fash- 
ion ;  "  and  you,  also,  Emma,"  as  the  girl  paused 
hesitatingly  just  inside  the  door.  "  Unless  your 
conscience  accuses  you,  you  need  not  fear. 
Your  master  is  almost  recovered." 

Conyers  bowed  respectfully,  his  eyes  for  a 
moment  meeting  his  master's  smiling  eyes. 
Emma  stood  irresolutely  fingering  her  apron, 
her  eyes  bent  down. 

"  You  know  that  your  master  has  been  ill — 
dangerously  ill— poisoned?" 

Emma  lifted  her  eyes  for  an  instant  to  Con- 
yers' face.  Conyers  was  immovably,  respect- 
fully attentive. 

"Now,"  Graham  took  one  step  forward,  his 
flashing  eyes  upon  the  two  before  him,  raising  his 
hand  authoritatively,  "  tell  me  at  once  all  that 
you  know  regarding  this,  Conyers  !" 


Drama  of  a  Life.  3 1 9 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  What  have  you  to  say?" 

Conyers  paused.  His  usual  readiness  was 
gone.  He,  in  turn,  glanced  down  at  the  discom- 
fitted  girl  near  him.  Then  he  straightened  him- 
self, and  met  the  doctor's  eyes  calmly. 

"  1  have  nothing  to  say,  sir,"  he  replied. 

Doctor  Graham's  brows  lowered  over  the 
flashing  eyes. 

"  You  were  with  your  master,  night  and  day, 
attending  him  during  these  strange  attacks,  and 
still  have  nothing  to  say.  Very  well,  Conyers  ! 
I  shall  answer  for  you  presently  !" 

The  valet's  eyes  were  as  steady  as  his  own  and 
there  was  no  change  in  his  quietly  respectful 
face. 

"And  now,"  Graham  turned  swiftly  upon  the 
girl,  so  swiftly  that  she  shrank  back  from  him, 
"surely  you  have  something  to  say,  Emma! 
Keep  nothing  from  us.  We  must  know  all  /" 

Once  more  his  eyes  sought  the  eyes  of  the 
valet,  but  Conyers  might  have  been  forever  a 
stranger  to  her  for  all  sign  he  gave  of  her  pres- 


320  Lida   Campbell,  or 

ence,  or  of  her  present  revelation  ;  and  with  a 
half  shy  dignity  attractive  in  the  girl,  Emma 
answered  the  physician. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

UNMASKING. 

Where  is  the  thread  now  ?    Off  again  ! 

The  old  trick!    Only  I  discern 
Infinite  passion  and  the  pain 
Of  finite  hearts  that  yearn. 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  blaming  me  for  Mr.  Price's 
illness !"  said  the  girl,  her  eyes  as  level  as  the 
flashing  eyes  of  Doctor  Graham  upon  her.  "  I 
am  sorry  if  you  or  he  believe  that;  but  I  can 
clear  myself  if  you  do." 

Conyers,  in  a  swift  glance,  once  more  became 
aware  of  her  presence  ;  but  she  gave  no  sign  of 
her  knowledge  of  this. 

"  I  may  have  been  in  the  master's  service  but  a 
short  time  compared  with  the  length  of  the  ser- 


Drama  of  a  Life.  321 

vice  of  his  other  servants,  but  I  have  been  faith- 
ful in  spite  of  any  suspicion,  as  Mrs.  Leonard  can 
tell  you."  She  glanced  toward  the  housekeeper, 
but  waited  for  no  corroboration  of  her  words. 
I  was  commissioned  to  be  faithful,  and  I  have 
kept  my  promise  to  do  my  best.  I  knew  that 
the  master  was  often  ill  in  the  night,  and  that 
Conyers  was  with  him.  I  think  that  he  has  been 
true  as  well  as  I.  Anyway,  1  have  watched  him 
constantly,  and  nothing  has  gone  wrong,  I 
know." 

The  vaiet  once  more  glanced  down  upon  her, 
surprised  at  the  earnestness  of  her  voice. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Doctor  Graham,  quietly  : 
"  I  am  glad  that  you  can  speak  so  positively, 
Emma.  Please  go  on." 

The  girl  courtesied  ;  she  forgot  to  finger  her 
apron  in  her  eagerness  to  prove  her  truth. 
Mrs.  Carmichael's  eyes  were  upon  her,  and  she 
knew  it ;  but  was  not  at  all  disconcerted.  Even 
Mrs.  Leonard  looked  astonished  at  her  assur- 
ance. 

"  I  know  that  you  suspected  Conyers  and  me 


322  Lido,   Campbell,  or 

of  harming  Mr.  Price.  You  said  as  much  and 
looked  it.  Conyers  suspected  me.  And  yet  1 
could  not  explain,  for  I  had  promised  to  be 
silent  until  given  leave  to  speak.** 

"  You  talk  in  riddles,"  said  Doctor  Graham, 
coldly.  "This  is  no  child's  play,  Emma.  Be 
kind  enough  to  hurry  your  explanation." 

The  girl  showed  no  sign  of  irritation  or  dis- 
comfiture at  his  sternness. 

"  I  learned  that  there  was  danger  threatening 
Mr.  Price,"  she  said,  in  her  pretty,  shy  manner. 
"  He  is  too  kind  to  every  one,  sir,  to  be  harmed. 
I  was  sent  to  see  that  nothing  should  prove 
fatal  to  him.  The  cream  that  was  poisoned  a 
few  weeks  ago  I  threw  away  as  soon  as  I  dis- 
covered that  it  made  Mr.  Price  ill,  even  though 
Mrs.  Leonard  told  me  to  save  it  for  you 
because  I  had  my  own  suspicions  and  feared 
that  it  would  be  used  still  for  harm.  You  will 
understand  presently,  Doctor  Graham.  At  the 
time  you  were  angry,  believing  that  I  disobeyed 
you  from  a  wish  to  harm  him.  You  called 
Conyers  and  me  up  here.  I  knew  that  you— 


Drama  of  a  Life.  323 

and  Conyers — believed  that  1  was  actuated  by 
an  evil  motive.  Mrs.  Carmichael  was  the  only 
one  who  knew  better." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  and  Mrs.  Carmichael 
understand  each  other  so  well,  Emma,"  said 
Price,  kindly,  with  a  smile  that  lightened  the 
girl's  face  and  that  was  not  lost  upon  Mrs. 
Carmichael. 

A  peculiar  smile  crossed  the  girl's  lips. 

"  She  sent  me  here,"  she  said,  quietly,  with  a 
glance  toward  the  nurse,  answered  by  a  flashing 
glance  from  the  gray  eyes  meeting  hers ;  "  and 
she  can  better  tell  you  the  rest  than  1." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking  ?"  demanded 
Graham,  sternly. 

"  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  answered  Emma,  in  a  low 
tone. 

Price  turned  toward  her  as  the  doctor  said,  in 
half-displeased  surprise  : 

"  I  thought  that  I  understood  and  could  trust 
Mrs.  Carmichael,  but  it  seems  that  one  of  your 
servants  is  better  informed  than  I,  Price.  What 
has  Mrs.  Carmichael  to  answer  to  this  charge  ?" 


324  Lida  Campbell,  or 

The  gentle,  white-haired  nurse  stepped  for- 
ward in  a  sweetly  dignified  manner,  as  though 
she  would  force  back  any  rash  speech  and  utter 
only  quiet  words.  Mrs.  Leonard  was  listening 
to  this  strange  scene  in  extreme  surprise. 

"When  I  called  upon  Doctor  Graham,"  said 
Mrs.  Carmichael,  addressing  Price  more  than 
the  physician,  "  I  possessed  such  personal 
proofs  of  the  attempt  upon  your  life,  that  I  con- 
sidered it  a  criminal  offense  not  to  do  what  I 
could  to  protect  you  from  harm.  I  hesitated 
about  making  it  known  to  the  proper  authorities 
because  the  knowledge  came  to  me  under  pecul- 
iar circumstances,  and  my  statement  might  not 
be  believed,  besides  the  unpleasant  notoriety 
that  would  undoubtedly  follow  such  a  revela- 
tion. Doctor  Graham  knows  this  part  of  the 
matter.  The  rest  of  the  story  is  that,  after  some 
time  of  indecision,  1  went  to  a  detective  bureau 
and  made  known  enough  of  the  plot  against  Mr. 
Price's  life  to  secure  the  services  of  a  woman 
detective  to  enter  service  here.  This  was 
gained  without  trouble — 


Drama  of  a  Life.  325 

11  And  this  is  the  woman?"  interrupted  Doctor 
Graham,  in  a  tone  of  chagrin  at  his  own  blunder, 
indicating  the  girl  Emma  with  a  motion  of  his 
hand. 

Mrs.  Carmichael  bowed. 

"  This  is  the  woman,"  she  said,  softly. 
"  Through  her  I  was  kept  constantly  informed 
of  what  passed  here,  but  knowing  more  of  the 
circumstances  relating  to  the  case  than  I  wished 
to  make  known,  and,  learning  that  Mr.  Price  was 
failing,  I  offered  my  own  services  to  Doctor 
Graham,  going  to  him  with  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion from  Doctor  Oldham,  of  New  York,  who 
was  a  friend  as  well  as  the  physician  of  the 
person  plotting  the  murder.  This  letter  was 
gained  only  after  much  delay  and  argument,  but 
that  it  was  gained,  my  presence  signifies. 
Doctor  Oldham  as  well  as  I  knew  more  of  this 
matter  than  he  cared  to  make  known. 

"  My  plan  of  coming  personally  was  approved 
by  Miss  Rockwood — Miss  Rockwood,  formerly 
the  girl  'Emma' — and  I  found  that  it  was  well 
that  I  chose  this  character  of  nurse,  for  only  in 


326  Lida   Campbell,  or 

this  way  was  I  enabled  to  be  continually  in  the 
sick-room.  I  have  accomplished  the  errand  for 
which  I  came.  The  person  who  planned  this 
scheme  is  known  to  us  all,  but  I  shall  not  name 
her.  It  is  a  woman — yes.  Her  accomplice  in 
the  plotting  we  have  also  discovered,  as  well  as 
the  cowardly  inmate  of  this  house  who  was 
bribed  and  frightened  into  administering  the 
poison." 

Conyers  instinctively  felt  that  the  eyes  of  all 
were  upon  him,  but  his  eyes  did  not  falter  from 
meeting  squarely  those  of  his  master. 

"And  now,"  added  Mrs.  Carmichael,  in  her 
sweet,  quiet  voice,  with  a  pretty  gesture  of 
appeal  toward  Mr.  Price,  "  in  order  to  finish  this 
scene,  may  I  summon  one  of  your  servants,  Mr. 
Price  ?  For  there  is  one  more  actor." 

Price  smiled.  Lee  Price's  smile  was  good  to 
see. 

"  Anything  that  Mrs.  Carmichael  desires  is  at 
her  disposal  always,"  he  said,  gently.  "  You  are 
at  liberty  to  summon  whom  you  will  of  my  house- 
hold, Mrs,  Carmichael,  J  will  agree  to  anything 


Drama  of  a  Life.  327 

to  restore  the  old  even  tenor  of  our  life  and 
remove  suspicion  from  all  but  him  who  is 
guilty." 

Mrs.  Carmichael  smiled  upon  this  kindly 
spirited  man,  but  the  slight  gesture  of  her  hands 
was  still  more  effective  in  its  betrayal  that  justice 
and  not  revenge  demanded  the  unmasking  of  him, 
who  was  guilty.  She  was  a  woman  and  pitiful, 
but  the  innocent  should  not  suffer. 

"  I  have  positive  proof  of  what  I  assert,  Mr. 
Price;  otherwise  I  should  not  dare  to  make  the 
accusation." 

"  We  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Price,  posi- 
tively ;  "  even  though  you  came  here  in  an 
assumed  character,  Mrs.  Carmichael." 

Graham  bowed.  Graham  felt  decidedly  non- 
plussed, for  so  far  his  keen  perception  amounted 
to  nothing,  and  he  prided  himself  upon  his  per- 
ception. Hastings,  with  his  back  against  the 
door,  to  prevent  the  possible  escape  of  one  they 
should  wish  to  detain,  only  stared,  dumbfounded, 
at  this  strangest  scene  of  all.  "  Emma,"  or  Miss 
Rockwood,  now  in  her  true  character,  was  stand- 


328  Li  da   Campbell,  or 

ing  back  near  Mrs.  Leonard,  but  Conyers 
remained  standing  respectfully  before  his 
master. 

Once  more  Mrs.  Carmichael  smiled. 

"  The  person  whom  I  shall  presently  sum- 
mon," she  said,  "  you  do  not  in  the  least  suspect, 
and  it  is  necessary,  to  prevent  suspicion  in  the 
mind  of  the  person  summoned,  for  all,  save  Mr. 
Price,  the  doctor  and  myself,  to  leave  the  room. 
The  others  can  wait  in  the  inner  room  and  hear 
without  being  seen." 

"  By  Jove !''  murmured  Tom  Hastings  to 
himself,  still  staring,  amazed  at  the  woman's 
calmness,  as  he  turned  with  the  others  from  the 
room. 

Then  Mrs.  Carmichael  and  Miss  Rockwood, 
in  her  old  character  of  a  housemaid,  summoned 
the  servant  whom  Mrs.  Carmichael  named  to 
her,  and  presently  the  two  returned. 

"  Good  heavens — Gordon  !"  exclaimed  Price, 
in  grieved  surprise.  "  Gordon!" 

"  Gordon  !"  said  Graham,  now  fully  aware  of 
the  extent  of  his  own  blunder. 


Drama  of  a  Life.  329 

"  Gordon !"  said  Mrs.  Carmichael,  but  in  a 
different  tone  than  that  used  by  the  others.  Hers 
was  sternly  authoritative,  not  sad,  and  her  eyes 
blazed  into  the  butler's  astonished  eyes.  "  I 
summoned  you, "she  continued,  swiftly,  yet  very 
distinctly,  "  to  answer  a  charge  against  you. 
Gordon,  your  master  has  been  very  ill  from  the 
effect  of  poison.  You  administered  this  poison  !" 

The  man,  aghast,  utterly  crushed  by  the 
revelation,  too  completely  taken  by  surprise 
even  to  defend  or  attempt  to  defend  himself, 
grew  pallid  with  fear,  and  spread  out  his  hands 
— slim  hands  they  were,  and  very  much  resem- 
bling Conyers' — and  retreated  a  couple  of  feet, 
his  horrified  eyes  upon  the  woman  who  stood  so 
passionately  facing  him. 

"  Gordon  !"  repeated  Price,  in  a  low  tone,  as 
though  the  knowledge  of  this  man's  guilt 
wourided  him  more  than  it  did  the  man  himself. 
"  Is  it  possible  that  it  is  you  who  are  guilty  of 
this?  You,  whom  we  have  trusted  ?  You, 
whom  we  believed  so  faithful  that  one  word 


33O  Lida  Campbell,  or 

against     you     would     have     been     indignantly 
denied  ?" 

"  You  !"  said  Doctor  Graham,  in  a  voice  of 
concentrated  scorn  and  anger  that  this  unmask- 
ing of  villainy  was  due  only  to  this  woman,  and 
merely  to  a  woman — the  woman  opposite  him, 
with  her  flashing  eyes  and  flushed  cheeks  and 
excited  hands.  "  You,  a  serpent  in  your 
master's  household,  betraying  his  trust !" 

"  But  I  call  heaven  to  witness — "  stammered 
Gordon,  still  trembling  and  pallid,  but  endeavor- 
ing to  regain  his  self-control  during  these  few 
minutes  granted  him,  though  his  eyes  could  not 
meet  his  master's  and  shrank  from  the  true  eyes 
of  the  woman. 

"  Hush  !"  said  Mrs.  Carmichael,  imperiously. 
"Don't  perjure  yourself  by  one  word,  Gordon  ! 
/  know  your  guilt — and  you — and  God  !  The 
heaven  you  call  upon  would  crush  you  with  the 
truth  !  /saw  you  enter  here  last  night,  at  mid- 
night. You  poured  into  the  master's  drinking 
water  enough  of  one  of  the  deadliest  of  drugs  to 
kill  him  instantly,  should  he  have  drank  it.  But 


Drama  of  a  Life.  331 

he  did  not  drink  of  it.  /saw  you,  and  removed 
the  pitcher  from  the  room,  and  a  part  of  the 
contents  is  now  in  Doctor  Graham's  possession. 
He,  too,  is  your  accuser." 

"  Yes,  and  her  accuser  !"  said  Graham,  bitterly. 
"  We  know  the  woman  who  set  you  to  this,  Gor- 
don. This  is  her  plot,  but  you  were  to  work  it 
for  her." 

"  For  her  !"  murmured  Price,  in  a  suffocated 
voice,  his  eyes  pathetic  in  their  appeal.  "  Whom 
do  you  mean,  Graham  ?" 

Graham  bit  his  lip  and  frowned,  unable  to 
meet  the  look,  for  he  knew  that  his  friend  was 
suffering  from  the  crushing  truth. 

"  Why  do  you  speak  of  her?"  interposed  Mrs. 
Carmichael,  gently.  "  Is  it  not  enough  that  no 
real  harm  is  done  ?  This  man  can  answer  all 
that  is  necessary." 

Price's  impatient  gesture  silenced  her.  Gordon 
was  utterly  humiliated,  but  even  he  felt  his  heart 
stir  with  pity  at  this  man's  wounded  pride. 

"  I  must  hear  the  truth,"  he  said,  sternly. 
"  Who  is  the  woman,  Jack  ?" 


332  Lida  Campbell,  or 

Graham  flushed  confusedly.  He  had  not 
intended  to  speak  so  openly  of  the  woman 
behind  this  plot — not  yet. 

"  The  woman  ?"  he  repeated,  aimlessly.  "  You 
know  her,  Lee.  She  is — your  sister !" 

Price  rose  unsteadily  to  his  feet,  and  his  white 
face,  in  its  sudden  surge  of  pity  and  humiliation 
and  suffering,  moved  them  all.  There  were  tears 
in  Mrs.  Carmichael's  eyes,  though  she  was 
unconscious  of  it  in  her  sympathy  for  his  sorrow. 

"  It  is  what  I  feared  !"  he  said  ;  and  his  voice 
was  hoarse,  though  perfectly  steady,  and  his 
brown  eyes  searched  their  faces  successively  for 
any  trace  of  doubt  of  this  accusation.  "  But  you 
must  not  believe  that  this  was  done  intention- 
ally— not  as  any  of  us  might  do  it — not  even  as 
Gordon  entered  into  it — for  he  is  responsible  and 
she  is  not !  She  has  always  been  peculiar — my 
sister  Olive — "  what  sorrowful  regret  was  in  his 
voice — "  and  her  strangely  active  mind  and 
intensely  fine  sensibilities  were  dangerous  in  her, 
and  her  equally  remarkable  physical  strength  was 
but  food  for  her  highly  strung  nerves,  as  that 


Drama  of  a  Life.  333 

was  never  properly  developed  or  given  enough 
exercise  for  health.  In  consequence  of  this  her 
mental  power  far  exceeds  her  physical  strength, 
and  as  a  natural  outcome,  as  her  physician 
warned  her  many  times,  her  mental  power,  having 
almost  exhausted  her  physical  strength,  feeds 
upon  itself.  Her  mind  is  diseased.  I  have  known 
this  for  five  years,  but  have  kept  the  knowledge 
to  myself,  believing  that  she  was  dead  and 
beyond  harming  any  one.  I  tell  .you  now  only 
because  it  is  just  to  you  and  every  one,  even 
herself;  and  I  must  find  her  at  once,  if  she  is 
living ! 

"  Do  not  tell  me  more  of  this  now !  I  could 
not  endure  it !  Do  not  even  tell  me  of  Gordon  ! 
Let  him  go.  I  refuse  to  appear  against  him,  for 
he  has  been  faithful,  and  I  know  better  than  any 
of  you  the  terrible  power  my  sister  possesses 
over  weaker  wills!  There  was  one  time  when 
she  influenced  me  to  a  degree  that  terrified  me, 
but  that  helps  me  now  to  understand  how  this 
man  was  turned  from  me  I 

"And  now,  Jack,  old    fellow,  send    every    one 


334  Lida  Campbell,  or 

away,  please,  and  leave  me  with  Conyers  !  He 
was  faithful,  in  spite  of  any  suspicion  others  held 
toward  him  I  You  said  very  little,  but  I  knew  ! 
And  I  also  knew  how  much  Conyers  had  done  to 
bring  me  back  to  life — he  and  Mrs.  Carmichael. 

And  with  a  faint  smile,  that  he  tried  to  make 
very  brave,  his  eyes  turned  for  an  instant  from 
the  immovable  face  and  scintillating  eyes  of  his 
valet  to  the  quiet  face  of  the  nurse.  Price  sank 
back  in  his  chair  and  turned  his  face  from  them 
to  the  peaceful  outer  world,  oblivious  for  a  long 
time  to  all  that  passed  around  him,  even  to  the 
eager  attempt  of  Gordon  to  exonerate  himself 
in  his  kindly  master's  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MERELY   A   WOMAN. 

When  a  soul  has  seen 

By  the  means  of  Evil  that  good  is  best, 
And,  through  earth  and  its  noise,  what  is  heaven's 

serene, 

When  our  faith  in  the  same  has  stood  the  test ;  "* 
Why,  the  child-grown  man,  you  burn  the  rod, 
The  uses  of  labor  are  surely  done. 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 

Twilight  was  over  the  quiet  autumn  woods, 
where  the  soft  stir  of  vividly  colored  leaves  was 
like  the  far  echo  of  the  waves  lifting  and  falling 
along  the  beach  under  the  sea-wall  at  Bachelors' 
Beatitude.  Twilight  and  peace  were  soft  upon 
the  water  and  lawn  ;  a  late  sail  on  the  horizon 
was  purpling  with  the  purpling  night.  Deep 
shadow  lay  along  the  piazza  under  the  rustling 
vines,  save  the  bright-red  glow  of  cigars,  where 
Price  was  sitting  with  his  friends  and  guests. 

[3351 


336  Lida  Campbell,  or 

Walker  Paling  also  was  there  at  Price's  earnest 
request.  It  was  the  evening  following  the  dis- 
closure of  the  plot  and  plotters. 

"  Well,  by  George  !"  said  Ned  Newton,  after 
a  long  silence.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  some  lives 
lun  along  pretty  smoothly  and  others,  somehow, 
get  all  tangled  up  with  jarring  wheels  of  fortune 
and  fate  !  I  never  saw  such  a  fellow  as  you, 
Price,  with  your  good  fortune  and  bad." 

"  It's  the  way  the  world  runs,"  said  Morgan, 
aughing  quietly  ;  "but  it's  not  half  bad,  Neddie  !" 

"  And  you  couldn't  have  a  good  telling  light 
without  shadows,  you  know,"  suggested  Curtis, 
in  his  soft  voice,  always  fearful  of  ridicule. 
"  The  two,  carefully  used,  make  the  best 
canvases." 

"You  are  an  artist?"  queried  Paling,  courte- 
ously. He  had  never  before  met  this  young  fel- 
low with  the  soft  voice  and  good-natured  face, 
but  he  honored  him  as  being  one  of  Lee  Price's 
friends — Lee  Price,  the  man  who  forgot  and  for- 
gave so  much !  For  still  he  scarcely  knew 
whether  he  required  great  forgiveness  or  great 


Drama  of  a  Life.  337 

pity.  "  I  have  a  friend  who  is  a  promising 
young1  artist,  Mr.  Curtis.  You  would  be  pleased 
to  meet  her,  I  am  sure." 

'•  I  should  be  pleased  to  meet  any  of  your 
friends,"  said  Curtis,  with  considerable  enthusi- 
asm, for  art  was  everything  to  "  little  Phil,"  as 
his  friends  called  him.  "  But  I  am  really  not 
much  of  an  artist,  Mr.  Paling.  I  doit  for  amuse- 
ment more  than  from  any  exalted  hopes  of  fame." 

"  Yes  ?"  said  Paling,  still  kindly  courteous, 
though  his  thoughts  were  far  from  these  friends 
or  the  present  scene.  "  My  friend  works  hard 
and  studies  hard  because  she  has  strong  hopes, 
Mr.  Curtis.  Do  you  not  think  that  hope  always 
brightens  and  heightens  life's  possibilities  ?" 

"Always,"  Price  affirmed,  gently.  "Hope 
and  determination,  Mr.  Paling.  The  two  are 
sure  to  succeed." 

"  Determination  is  only  another  word  for 
patience,"  said  Doctor  Graham,  leaning  forward 
to  carefully  remove  the  ashes  from  his  cigar 
against,  the  piazza  railing  ;  and  patience  never 
tires." 


338  Lida  Campbell,  or 

"  No,"  said  Paling,  in  a  low  voice,  knowing  of 
what  his  friend  was  thinking.  And  then  they 
fell  into  silence,  thinking  that  that  was  best. 

"  To  think,"  said  Mayhew,  presently,  in  an 
undertone  to  Hastings,  as  they  sat  a  little 
removed  from  their  host,  "  that  this  plot  went 
on  under  our  very  noses.  It  is  no  more  aston- 
ishing, I  suppose,  than  that  Gordon  should  turn 
out  the  villain  instead  of  Conyers,  but  it  is  rather 
alarming  to  me.  Can  one  trust  one's  nearest 
friends  ?  Now,  I  shouldn't  have  been  surprised 
at  anything  Conyers  took  it  into  his  head  to  do, 
lor  I  never  did  like  him,  but  for  Gordon,  the 
faithful,  the  irreproachable — " 

"  And  to  think,"  said  Hastings,  as  his  friend 
paused,  "  that  in  spite  of  Graham's  keenness,  the 
real  villain  should  have  been  discovered  by  this 
woman,  this  Mrs.  Carmichael.  It  must  be 
mighty  bitter  for  him  to  remember  !  It  would 
be  for  me,  at  least.  To  be  outdone  by  any  one 
is  gall  enough,  but  when  it  comes  to  merely  a 
woman — " 

"  Even  pretty  Miss  Polly,  I  suppose,"  retorted 


Drama  of  a  Life.  339 

Mayhew,  laughing,  knowing  very  well  that  this 
same  pretty  Miss  Polly  had  jilted  Mr.  Tom  Hast- 
ings for  young  Doctor  Graham.  "  Don't  carry 
this  prejudice  too  far,  Tom  ;  you  will  get  the 
worst  of  it  if  you  do." 

"  I  fail  to  see  what  Miss  Ballard  has  to  do  with 
this,"  said  Hastings,  haughtily.  "/  thought 
that  we  were  speaking  of  Mrs.  Carmichael,  May- 
hew  ?" 

"  So  we  were,"  said  Mayhew,  good-naturedly. 
And  '  Emma,'  another  of  the  new-style  detec- 
tives, Tom !  I  shall  be  afraid  to  trust  my  own 
mother,  next." 

"  Humph  !"  ejaculated  Hastings,  contemptu- 
ously— Hastings  was  very  bitter  because  he  had 
had  so  little  to  do  with  this  unmasking  of  plot. 
"  Don't  carry  it  to  extremes,  Mayhew.  I  was 
speaking  of  facts,  and  not  conjecture.  There's 
this  Olive  Price — or  Paling's  wife,  as  I  just  learn 
she  is,  a  raging  lunatic,  cheating  people  with  the 
idea  that  she  was  such  a  spiritual  being  as  to 
soar  among  dead  spirits  and  learn  their  will 


340  Lida  Campbell,  or 

whenever  she  would,  and  now  accused  of  having 
hypnotized  poor  Gordon  !  Fine  woman,  she  !" 

"  But  she  is  altogether  different  from  Mrs. 
Carmichael,  Tom,"  said  Mayhew,  reprovingly. 
"  Mrs.  Carmichael  saved  Price's  life  and  we 
should  not  forget  it.  He  doesn't !" 

"  No,"  said  Tom,  reflectively.  "  That  wouldn't 
be  like  Price,  Mayhew.  He  never  forgets  a 
kindness,  if  he  does  forget  an  injury.  Why,  he 
offered  her  the  position  of  companion  to  his  aunt, 
Mrs.  Estabrook — she  desires  a  companion,  he 
said — with  a  salary  that  would  make  you  open 
your  eyes.  He  learned,  you  know,  that  she  is 
too  independent  to  be  dependent.  She  has  plenty 
of  rich  relations,  I  understand,  but  is  too  proud 
to  take  their  charity.  Give  her  credit  for  that,  of 
course  you  will  say.  Well,  she  hasn't  yet  accepted 
the  position,  and  I  don't  know  that  she  will,  but 
the  offer  was  like  Price.  Mrs.  Estabrook  took  a 
fancy  to  her  during  her  stay  here,  and  made  the 
suggestion  to  her  nephew." 

"  I  wonder  often  that  he  has  never  married — 
never  even  fallen  in  love,"  said  Mayhew,  after  a 


Drama  of  a  Life.  341 

moment,  gazing  intently  at  the  glowing  end  of 
his  cigar,  held  lightly  between  his  finger  and 
thumb.  "  He's  such  a  noble  fellow,  any  woman 
might  feel  proud  of  his  love." 

"  I  should,"  said  Hastings,  with  a  short  laugh, 
"  If  I  were  a  woman,  Dick — which,  thank  heaven, 
I  am  not." 

"  Hold  on,  Tom  !"  said  Mayhew,  leaning  for- 
ward and  laying  his  hand  heavily  on  the  arm  of 
his  friend's  chair,  speaking  in  a  low  but  impres- 
sive voice.  "  It's  treason  for  you  to  utter  such  a 
sentiment  as  that  in  the  presence  of  Lee  Price. 
He  honors  women,  as  any  man  should,  and  I 
refuse  to  hear  another  word  even  from  you." 

Hastings  rose,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  tossing 
the  end  of  his  cigar  out  upon  the  lawn. 

"  There's  no  use  in  our  quarreling  over  this, 
Dick,"  he  said,  carelessly.  "  You  know  my 
opinion  of  women.  "  They're  lovely  creatures, 
and  1  wouldn't  want  the  world  to  be  without 
them  ;  but  when  there's  anything  special — like 
this — to  be  done,  I  think  that  it  generally  takes 
more  than  merely  a  woman  to  accomplish  it." 


342  Lida   Campbell,  or 

"  Because  you  have  never  proved  a  woman's 
power,"  said  a  quiet  voice  beside  them.  A  slow, 
softly  modulated  voice,  but  not  Mrs.  Car- 
michael's,  as  they  at  first  believed. 

Lights  had  been  set  in  the  parlors,  and  a  soft 
radiance  sifted  out  between  the  lace  drapery 
upon  the  piazza.  In  this  half-revealing  light 
stood  the  woman.  She  had  come  upon  the 
piazza  from  the  side-steps,  and  passed  Hastings 
and  Mayhew  with  only  these  quiet  words,  paus- 
ing just  withdrawn  from  Lee  Price  and  those 
grouped  about  him.  A  magnificently  physiqued 
woman,  with  a  commanding  manner,  and  snow- 
white  hair  lying  softly  against  her  pallid  face, 
lighted  by  the  flaming  midnight  eyes. 

Paling  recognized  her  instantly,  and  rose  like 
one  who  had  received  a  blow  as  though  to 
defend  his  host.  His  face  matched  her  own  in 
pallor  and  his  eyes  flashed  into  hers.  Silence 
fell  upon  the  others,  for  instinctively  they  knew 
who  this  woman  was. 

"  And  so  you  have  followed  me  even  here, 
Olive !"  said  Paling,  in  a  gentle  voice,  reaching 


Drama  of  a  Life.  343 

out  his  hand  to  her.  He  could  be  very  tender 
with  her,  knowing  the  evil  that  had  fallen  upon 
her. 

She  spread  out  her  hands  as  though  to  push 
him  from  her  memory,  lifting  her  proud  head 
haughtily. 

"  I  have  followed  you  here — yes,"  she  said, 
and  there  was  a  quiver  of  fury  in  her  voice  ; 
"  but  not  because  I  love  you,  Walker  Paling. 
No!  I  hate  you  !  I  hate  you  and  despise  you  ! 
Coward  !  You  dared  not  keep  your  promise  to 
me  !  You  dared  not  live  up  to  the  preaching  of 
your  novel — your  novel  arid  mine  !  You  feared 
to  be  your  own  hero — my  hero — a  world's  great 
avenger !  I  have  come  to  tell  you  how  I  scorn 
you  !  I  still  refuse  to  be  called  your  wife  !  Fool 
that  I  was  to  take  that  oath  upon  me ! 

"  And  I  have  come  to  tell  you  " — she  turned 
swiftly  upon  Price,  who  had  also  risen  in 
repressed  excitement,  and  was  leaning  toward 
her — they  all  were  instinctively  drawing  closer 
around  her — "  I  have  come  to  tell  you  how  I 
hate  you — how  I  have  always  hated  you — how 


344  Lida   Campbell,  or 

faithfully  I  tried  to  inflict  upon  you  the  ven- 
geance of  heaven  for  your  weakness,  your 
cowardice,  your  lack  of  spirituality !  How 
I  hate  you !" 

She  brought  her  hands  up,  clasped,  before  his 
face,  leaning  toward  him  as  he  leaned  toward 
her,  their  eyes  irresistibly  drawn  to  each  other. 
Then,  with  a  vacant  laugh,  she  was  turning 
away,  when  Price  detained  her. 

"  Olive  !"  he  said. 

She  turned  upon  him  in  concentrated  fury,  as 
though  she  would  tear  him  limb  from  limb  like 
a  wild  tigress,  and  he'r  hands  were  clenched  now 
at  her  side.  But  as  she  would  have  spoken,  her 
physical  strength  gave  way  before  this  mad  tide 
of  passion,  and  throwing  up  her  arms,  she  fell 
upon  the  floor  at  their  feet,  in  convulsions. 

From  these  this  woman  never  recovered. 
She  died  that  night  in  the  guest-chamber  at 
Bachelors'  Beatitude  with  the  murmur  of  the 
beach  waves  drifting  in  with  the  breeze,  her  hus- 
band and  brother  beside  her  in  tenderest  pity, 
utterly  forgetting  the  sorrow  that  they  had 


Drama  of  a  Life.  345 

endured  because  of  her  ;  Doctor  Graham  doing 
all  in  his  power  to  relieve  her,  and  the  minister, 
hastily  summoned,  offering  such  consolation  as 
he  could  to  a  mind  diseased.  She  fell  asleep 
and  died  quietly,  the  change  from  life  to  death 
scarcely  perceptible  save  to  the  physician's  eyes, 
and  for  her  and  for  them  the  tumult  and  passion 
of  drama  were  at  end. 

"  How  beautiful  she  is  !"  said  Mrs.  Carmichael, 
softly,  as  she  stood  beside  the  coffin,  with  Mrs- 
Leonard,  looking  upon  all  that  was  left  of  Olive 
Price.  "No  matter  what  one's  life  has  been, 
there  is  a  sweetness  of  peace  upon  all  dead 
faces,  Mrs.  Leonard !" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Leonard,  sorrowfully. 
"  Poor  lamb !  Poor  lamb  !  But  what  was  her 
suffering,  Mrs.  Carmichael — ever — compared 
with  his?  There's  no  man  living  like  young 
Mr.  Price,  Mrs.  Carmichael — not  one!" 

"  And  few  women  like  this  !"  said  Mrs.  Car 
michael,  very  sweetly,  as  she  turned  away. 


346  Lida  Campbell,  or 

And  after  the  drama  a  new  scene  across  the 
theatre  of  life.  A  pleasant  scene,  with  soft  lights 
and  new  actors  with  happier  hearts  and  stronger 
courage  to  meet  the  whirls  of  fortune's  wheels. 

The  inner  office  at  The  Universal  Information 
Bureau  on  Forty-second  Street  in  New  York 
city.  The  same  pretty  occupant  of  the  huge 
chair,  before  the  slow  burning  grate  fire,  on  the 
late  autumn  day.  Nothing  apparently  changed, 
unless  it  were  a  more  tender  light  in  the  bright 
gray  eyes  and  an  added  gravity  upon  the  red 
lips  of  little  Lida  Campbell,  the  independent 
proprietor  of  the  offices. 

Miss  Randall  was  once  more  peeping  around 
the  handsome  screen  at  the  occupant  of  the 
chair,  in  addressing  her  in  her  bright  girlish 
fashion. 

"  A  lady  and  gentleman  who  desire  to  see  you 
privately,  Miss  Campbell.  Shall  I  bring  them 
in?" 

"  Certainly,**  said  Miss  Campbell,  smiling.  "  I 
am  still  on  the  lookout  for  my  fortune,  Miss 


Drama  of  a  Life.  347 

Randall,  and  every  new  visitor  may  bring  it  to 
me,  you  know." 

But  it  was  remarkable  what  beautiful  color 
suddenly  surged  into  Miss  Campbell's  cheeks, 
and  how  shy  her  pretty  dark  eyes  grew  before 
the  astonished  brown  eyes  of  the  gentleman  just 
entering  the  room. 

"  This  is  Miss  Campbell  ?"  queried  the  gentle- 
man, hesitatingly.  "  It  can  scarcely  be,  madam. 
I  have  met  Miss  Campbell,  and — pardon  me — ; 
but  she  was  older  than  you — and  quite  dif- 
ferent !" 

A  mischievous  smile  deepened  upon  the  pretty 
lips  ;  the  gray  eyes,  under  their  shy  white  lids, 
sparkled  with  laughter. 

"  But  I  am  Miss  Campbell — Lida  Campbell, 
Mr.  Price,"  she  answered,  softly.  "  You  and 
Mrs.  Estabrook  find  it  difficult  to  believe ;  but  if 
you  will  kindly  be  seated  I  will  explain  to  you." 

"But  we  thought — "  began  Mr.  Price,  bewil- 
deredly. 

"  That  Miss  Campbell  was  a  nice  old  nurse." 

A  very  pretty  voice  Miss  Campbell  had,  ancj 


348  Lida  Campbell,   or 

occasionally  she  emphasized  her  words  with  ges- 
tures of  her  hands,  and  the  story  she  told  was 
intensely  interesting  if  very  sad,  shadowing  as  it 
did  more  lives  than  one.  She  told  them  of  her 
strange  visitor  and  her  errand  and  her  fear  for 
his  safety,  and  the  plan  she  decided  upon  to  save 
him,  and  her  own  quiet  life. 

"  I  knew  if  the  world  found  out  my  part  in  the 
affair,  people  would  be  constantly  running  here 
to  see — it  is  the  way  of  the  world,  you  know — 
and  I  could  not  have  endured  that ;  so  I  masquer- 
aded a  little,  and  didn't  think  it  so  very  unwoman- 
ly under  the  circumstances,  do  you,  Mrs.  Esta- 
brook?  At  first  I  hesitated,  but  I  knew  that 
something  must  be  done.  When  this  new  novel 
of  Mr.  Paling's  came  out  I  was  sorry,  for  I  be- 
lieved that  he  wrote  it  under  her  influence — and 
I  never  saw  her  power  equaled  in  my  life — and 
still  I  did  not  believe  him  guilty  of  willful  wrong. 
When  they — Doctor  Graham  and  his  friend,  you 
remember — brought  him  to  your  house,  after 
charging  him  with  complicity  in  the  attempted 
crime,  I  was  sorry  still,  but  I  could  not  speak 


Drama  of  a  Life.  349 

until  the  right  time  should  come.     And  then — 
the  right  time  came  !" 

"  And  we   owe   it   to  you — not   to    Mrs.  Car- 
michael,"  said  Lee  Price,  with  quiet  laughter  in 
his   eyes   and    a    deeper    kindness    around    his' 
mouth. 

"  And,  although  I  was  remarkably  attracted 
to  Mrs.  Carmichael,  I  prefer  you  as  you  are," 
said  Mrs.  Estabrook,  sweetly,  with  her  hand 
upon  the  woman's  shoulder  as  they  stood 
together  at  the  door.  "  And  I  shall  not  be  satis, 
fied  until  I  have  you  in  my  home." 

If  Mrs.  Estabrook  considered  Miss  Campbell's 
conduct  unwomanly,  it  is  remarkable  that  she 
treated  her  more  as  her  daughter  than  as  merely 
an  inmate  of  her  household.  If  Mr.  Lee  Price, 
with  his  fine  appreciation  of  womanhood,  con- 
sidered her  unwomanly,  it  is  strange  that  he 
became  so  interested  in  his  aunt's  companion. 
If  Price's  friends  had  any  disparaging  remarks 
to  make  regarding  this  pretty  woman,  they 
uttered  them  beyond  his  hearing  or  hers  ! 

And  so — 


350  Lida  Campbell,  or 

If  Doctor  Graham  could  marry  wicked  little 
Polly  Ballard,  with  every  prospect  of  happiness, 
was  it  impossible  for  Mr.  Lee  Price  to  marry 
little  Lida  Campbell  with  the  like  prospect,  to 
leave  the  business  on  Forty-second  Street  to  the 
little  assistant,  Miss  Randall  ? 

"  If  people  will  talk — "  said  little  Miss  Camp- 
bell, one  day  just  before  her  wedding. 

"  Why,  they  can  only  say  good  of  you,"  her 
lover  finished,  laughingly,  his  brown  eyes  upon 
hers. 

"  Even  if  Mr.  Hastings  does  call  me — " 

"  Being  '  merely  a  woman  '  is  above  a  man  at 
his  best !"  retorted  Price  with  a  lover's  belief 
in  the  lady  of  his  heart.  "  And  anyway  Tom's 
going  to  marry  Kittie  Florence  so  he  may  as 
well  quit  talking  in  this  strain — he  and  the  rest 
of  the  fellows!" 

"  But  I  am  glad,"  said  Miss  Lida  by  and  by 
very  reflectively,  with  a  charming  shyness  about 
her  eyes,  "  that  Mr.  Paling  is  to  marry  that  pretty 
Miss  Fitzgerald,  the  artist !  She  is  so  sweet, 
Lee,  dear!  Women  can  do  things  if  they  try." 


Drama  of  a  Life.  351 

"  As  you  have  proved  !"  said  Price  with  an 
eloquent  after  silence. 

And  so  the  parting  curtain  behind  the  drama 
of  a  life  was  drawn  aside  to  brightness  and  not 
the  blackness  of  a  soiled  conscience  or  the  haunt- 
ing ghost  of  crime ! 

****** 

But  Doctor  Oldham  held  firmly  to  his  convic- 
tion of  his  friend's  sanity. 


THE  END. 


Ill    III    Illl    III: 

A     000  032  398     o 


